Fairytale Nightmare
by CSIGurlie07
Summary: Something so perfect, so right... comes crashing down. Established Zibbs.
1. Chapter 1

"Ziva!" Gibbs called up the stairs. "You're going to be late!" He was just drying the mug he had used for his first cup of coffee. He hadn't seen Ziva all morning, but that wasn't unusual.

Ziva had a habit of going through her morning without making sure she said good morning to him. He didn't mind, and it worked out well for both of them. Ziva would wake up early, obscenely early in his opinion, to run for about an hour or so. During that hour, Gibbs himself would finally wake up and shower, after which he would go to the bedroom to dress. Ziva would return from her run while he was dressing, and go directly to the bathroom for her own shower. While she showered quickly, he would make a pot of coffee.

After her shower, she would dress swiftly and join him in the kitchen, kissing him good morning while acquiring her cup of coffee. But this morning, she had yet to come down after her shower, and they were cutting it close if they wanted to get to the Navy yard on time.

"Why are you yelling?" Her voice came from the living room behind him. He turned to see her fully dressed, keys in hand. "I was waiting for you," she said with a grin. She entered the kitchen and planted a kiss on his lips. "Good morning, my silver-haired fox." He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Morning." His voice was clearly curious about his new pet name. She shrugged.

"I heard Abby use it the other day, and I thought it fit you. In more ways than one."

"Uh huh," he replied. He snatched his keys from the counter. "Ready to go?" he asked. She grinned.

"Last one to the Navy Yard has to make dinner," she said. He grinned in acceptance, and her eyes lit up at the challenge. They were civil on the way out to the driveway, but he could tell that she was itching to get behind the wheel.

"Accidents and tickets are automatic disqualifiers," he said, attempting to preemptively guard against mishaps on the road. She rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned in acknowledgment. He did know, after all, that while her driving was as erratic as his, she was one of the best drivers on the road. Not many could drive as she did and get in so few accidents. He escorted her to her car before going to his own, not worried about her getting a head start; he had to move his car before she would be able to leave the driveway.

He took his time getting to his car, knowing it would drive Ziva nuts. He opened the door and got in, calmly hooking his seatbelt and checking his mirrors dutifully before casually pulling out on to the street. He reached the stop sign at the end of the cul-de-sac before she came peeling out of after him, barely slowing before slipping smoothly into traffic. Smiling to himself, he also merged onto the road, swiftly gaining speed until he matched her pace, swerving in and out of lanes as he avoided other cars. He sighed contentedly.

Just another ordinary day.

* * *

Ziva pulled into her customary spot just moments before he did, but her wide grin as she exited the car told him she was fully aware of her victory. She gave him a long look and a wink before heading into the building. He waited five minutes before following her. When he got into the squad room, she was already seated at her desk, hard at work.

"Good morning, Gibbs," she said as he passed. He nodded with his customary curtness, quickly falling back into the role of supervisor.

"Morning, Boss," Tony said, moving out from behind his desk. "We got a call yet?" Gibbs sent him a hard look.

"How would I know, Dinozzo?" he asked. "I just got here."

"Right. Sorry, Boss." Gibbs went to his desk and sat down, listening to Ziva strike up a banter session about why Tony was so eager to be out of the office. The senior field agent avoided her questions, which only gave Ziva, and soon McGee, a chance to pose some of their own conclusions.

The scene was typical for the day, as no call came in. They finished up the paperwork from their last case, and those who finished early looked over the evidence from some of their cold case files. The day wore on, and finally crawled to a close. The sun was halfway set when Gibbs' phone rang. The team looked up in disbelief as he answered, not willing to believe they had suffered through the boredom of the day only to be called to a scene minutes before shift ended.

"Gear up," Gibbs ordered, shutting his phone with a snap. They hesitated, as if expecting their boss to grin and say 'just kidding'. He didn't, instead giving them all an expectant look. "Do I have to tell you twice?"

The three of them sprang into action, pulling on their backpacks and scuttling toward the elevator. When the lift opened, they piled in, and then held the doors open until Gibbs joined them. Gibbs sidled in and came to a stop next to Ziva. They weren't quite touching, but they were close enough so that he could feel her mild irritation at the last-minute callout.

Dinozzo began complaining nearly immediately, much to the others' chagrin. He morosely recounted his interaction with a lady friend the night before, and now he had to cancel on her. Gibbs caught Ziva rolling her eyes, the movement nearly making him laugh. They maintained their proximity until the doors opened up onto the parking deck. He got off to go use his personal car, but she remained behind to go with the others to ride to the scene in the NCIS truck. Just as the doors slid shut, Gibbs heard her call dibs on driving.

* * *

Gibbs pulled into the scene right behind the NCIS truck. He didn't waste any time joining his team as they gathered their things from the back of the van. He noticed that Dinozzo had already disappeared to get a sit-rep from the local LEOs. He himself took a moment to survey the layout of the scene. There were two warehouses. The nearest one looked much older, made primarily of wood. It had three stories, but they seemed to lean to one side, displaying the instability of the supports. He took a sip of his coffee as he gazed at the building; it looked more like a deathtrap than a warehouse.

The second warehouse was about 300 yards to the east, and appeared exceedingly more stable. It was cinderblock, not wood, and it rested squarely on its foundations. The newer warehouse seemed to be the one with their victim, seeing as it was swarming with personnel. Gibbs was still looking at the scene when a local LEO came up and began giving him an update.

"Body was found in the east warehouse," he said, confirming Gibbs' suspicion. "Blood trail was followed back to this one." Upon looking at Gibbs' skeptical brow, the deputy continued. "It's old, but if you watch your step you and your team will be safe. Just don't do anything stupid while you're in there."

"Gibbs does not do anything stupid," came Ziva's voice from behind them.

"Yeah, that's usually your job, Deputy," Dinozzo joined in, re-converging with the team. Gibbs kept his face still, but he was inwardly pleased at his agents' answers; it was moments like these that he fully appreciated how well he had trained them.

"Dinozzo, take McGee and take the primary scene. Photographs, sketches, the works. Officer David, you will be taking the secondary scene." Gibbs' orders were followed immediately, without complaint or suggestion. A sharp glare in the deputy's direction had the uniformed man clearing his throat and finding somewhere else to be. Dinozzo and McGee quickly made their way over to the more modern warehouse, while Ziva quickly found the blood trail and quickly started snapping pictures as she slowly followed it inside the death trap in front of them.

Gibbs took a last swig of his coffee before ditching the cup in a nearby trash barrel and moving to join the Mossad officer in the warehouse. He followed the yellow plastic photo identifiers into the main room of the first floor and immediately over to the set of stairs upon which Ziva was currently standing. She finished snapping her last picture before she looked up at him.

"I thought you would be more interested in the body, Gibbs," she said.

"I do," he conceded. "But there is no way I am letting anyone in this deathtrap without a spotter." He moved to climb the stair to meet her, but she held up her hand to stop him.

"Let us not tempt fate, hm?" she asked. "I would not advise more than one person on this thing. And stick to the outside of the steps; I suspect the centers of the boards are rotted." He nodded in acknowledgement to the heads up, and waited for her to complete her photographs of the stairs before climbing up to meet her on the second level.

"Blood trail leads over to the center of the room," she reported. "Large pool of blood," she continued while snapping a picture, "indicates foul play. Perhaps this is in fact the primary scene, and the other warehouse is merely a dump site?"

"Fits for now," he responded. "But why drag a dead body from one warehouse to another, leaving a blood trail clear as day behind?"

"Perhaps he was interrupted," she speculated. "Or, depending on the other scene, perhaps it served a specific purpose, like sending a message of some kind." She paused, and then gave wry smile. "Or perhaps our perpetrator was just an idiot."

"All possible scenarios." They were in the middle of the room now, on opposite sides of the large pool of congealed blood. "We will re-evaluate as soon as—" his words were cut off as the world around them exploded into chaos.

A bright flash of flame from the direction of the primary scene as an explosion rocked the structure around them. A thunderous boom reached their ears, and he barely had time to wonder if the other two agents had been caught in the explosion before the boards beneath their feet gave out and they plummeted to the ground floor below. He was unconscious before he had a chance to register that the third floor and roof had come down on top of them.

* * *

Tony and McGee were walking to the door of the second warehouse, which happened to be on the far side of the building. Tony insisted on walking along the fence that bordered the perimeter, certain that it would cut down on their walking distance.

"I'm telling you, Tony," McGee said as they walked along, "this route is only making us walk farther."

"And you would know, Elf Lord, sitting behind your computer all day and night."

"You know, Tony," McGee said as they walked towards the warehouse, "RPGs have practical applications beyond pure entertainment." Dinozzo stopped in his tracks, turning around with a wide grin on his face.

"Oh really, Probie?" he asked with a chuckle. "It helps you brush up on your spell-casting skills? Those are important, those spells. They've helped solve many a case, right?" He laughed. "No, no! They help prepare you in case you ever run into an orc! Hah ha! Tell me Mc-Elf lord, which is more effective against Glork the Terrible? Poison? Fire?"

McGee looked around in exasperation, finally losing patience when he noticed that the first warehouse had completely disappeared from his view.

"You know what Tony?" he said, his irritation tangible. "Take your time. I'll meet you inside." He left Tony behind, making a beeline for the warehouse. Before he got halfway, the building exploded, knocking the young agent off his feet. He landed on his back, barely managing to keep his head from impacting the pavement. His breath rushed from his lungs, making him gasp and wheeze.

The initial wave of searing heat from the explosion faded until it was a glowing ambience as fire gripped the structure with greedy tendrils.

"Probie!" Tony called. His voice was filled with uncharacteristic concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. McGee sat up with the senior agent's help and stared incredulously at the burning building. "Probie? Snap out of it."

"Tony," McGee said, his voice shocked. "I think your stubborn stupidity just saved our lives."

* * *

Gibbs came to slowly, his awareness floating in and out murkily. He heard muffled sounds filtering down from above, and his surroundings were dark. Unsure of where he was, he attempted to move. He immediately felt resistance, and something above him started to shift, sending bits of rubble and dirt raining down on him. Suddenly he remembered where he was and what had happened. And who he was with.

"Ziva!" His voice was raspy from breathing in the dust still in the air. He cleared his throat, and when he tried again, his voice was stronger. "Ziva!" Silence answered him, and he felt panic encroaching as the situation and his inability to ascertain Ziva's condition struck home. But then—there: movement to his left. "Ziva?" More movement followed, then a groan.

"Gibbs?"

"Ziva." His relief was clearly audible. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer, and he was suddenly afraid that she had fallen unconscious again. If she had, it was possible she had a concussion, and being unconscious was the last thing she should be. "Ziva!"

"I may have broken some ribs," she answered finally. Her voice was strained, but clear. "There is something on top of me. It is too heavy for me to move." She paused. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said. "I can't move either. If I do, the whole thing might come down on us."

"Yes, we would hate for that to happen. Again." The wryness of her voice almost made him smile, despite the seriousness of their predicament. "Was it a bomb?"

"Not in this warehouse. I think it was the main scene that got hit. We got the shockwave, and this place couldn't take it." Silence fell once more, and the concern returned. "Ziva?"

"Do you think Tony—"

"I don't know Ziver," he cut her off, not willing to go down that line of thinking. The use of her nickname relaxed him, and he hoped it helped soothe her concern as well. He wondered briefly if she had experienced something like this when she was in Morocco.

"How long have we been down here?" she asked a few moments later.

"I don't know. I woke up a few minutes before you did."

"I do not hear anyone trying to get us out, Jethro." Her voice seemed strained, but he couldn't tell if it was from the dust in the air or because she was struggling to remain calm.

"They're probably more concerned with the burning building next door. They'll get to us, but they need to deal with the bigger threat first."

"Right." She remained quiet for a few minutes before speaking up again. "I do not think it was an accident, Gibbs."

"You mean the explosion?"

"Yes. It cannot be coincidence that the building a body was moved to was hit. Especially since it happened once law enforcement was on the scene."

"But if it's to destroy evidence, why blow it up _after_ the body was found? Why not detonate where the body fell the first time? Especially this place would go up like a match, with all this wood." Reverting to the role of an investigator took his mind off their predicament marginally, and Gibbs was thankful for it.

"It is a message. It is targeting someone. Low civilian casualty means either they intend to escalate or that the explosion was not their focus."

"What was their focus?"

"How would I know?" Her tone was genuinely curious, and it made him chuckle, which soon turned into a hacking cough. "Jethro?" Her voice was filled with concern.

"I'm okay," he reassured her. "How do your ribs feel?"

"I am fine," she said, her voice brusque.

"Ziva—" he started, not wanting her to mask her injuries. She cut him off.

"Shhhh." Gibbs obeyed her soft command. "Listen," she clarified. He did so, and soon heard the sounds of tentative footsteps making their way towards them.

"Is anybody there?" An unfamiliar voice came. "Special Agent Gibbs?"

"We're here!" he called up.

"Agent Gibbs, how many are with you?"

"One. Officer David. We were the only two in the building when it collapsed."

"Is Officer David responsive?"

"Yes, she is," Ziva interjected.

"Officer David, Agent Gibbs," the voice said in way of introduction, "I am Malik Abdullah and my partner here is Joshua Henson. We are paramedics, and we are going to get you out of there." Malik's voice was calm and collected, indicative of much experience in the field. "Are either of you injured?"

"Officer David may have some broken ribs," Gibbs told him before Ziva could proclaim her good health. "We are both pinned; I tried to move earlier but the rubble above me shifted."

"All right. Here is what we are going to do. Officer David, we are going to work on getting you out first, as you sound closer to the top and have injuries. Once you are safely removed, we will get to work on freeing you, Agent Gibbs. How does that sound?"

"Good," Gibbs said, again before Ziva could object. "Just do it." Malik did so, and only ten minutes later, Gibbs could see a bright influx of shifting light coming from his left as the man used his flashlight to look into the pit they had dug out. The paramedic took survey of the heavy beam that had pinned Ziva, quickly discerning that it was no longer supporting any of the other remnants of the warehouse. He and his partner paramedic, who was both out of sight and had refused to speak throughout the entire operation, worked to lift the weight of the beam and move it enough to the side to free Ziva.

Gibbs could barely see Ziva from where he was laying, especially through the sometimes blinding flash of the paramedic's flashlight. Malik's face was indiscernable, and in the poor light, Gibbs could barely see the color of his skin through the shadow. Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw hands reach out to grasp Ziva's arms.

With a half-groan, Ziva recoiled from his reach, but the hands would not be dissuaded. They grasped her upper arms firmly and gently lifted her out of the pit that had been her prison. She struggled briefly, but he heard her movements cease once she had been lifted clear of the debris. A few more rustles followed as the two paramedics escorted Ziva away from the collapsed structure, and then silence reigned yet again. But this silence automatically set the Marine on edge. His gut was twisting and churning all of a sudden, and he knew that something was wrong.

"Ziva?" he called. "Malik!" No one answered him, and the only thing he heard was the distant wails of the ambulances from the other warehouse. The revelation made him pause. He hadn't heard any sirens before Malik had shown up. A part of him knew that it could simply be because they had walked from the primary scene; but his gut knew the truth. Something was wrong, and now Ziva was no longer answering him. "Ziva!" Nothing.

The silence pounded in his ears, and his heart rate sped up as his breathing became shallower. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He now knew that the paramedics hadn't followed proper procedure, and the fact that there was no further sound from above told him that Ziva had been right; the bomb had not been the focus.

"ZIVA!"

* * *

Tony and McGee had quickly worked to secure the scene as much as possible. Sirens wailed as fire trucks and ambulances swarmed onto the scene. The firemen had been at work battling the monstrous flames for about half an hour when Dinozzo finally realized something was wrong.

"McGee," he said finally, looking around the disaster zone. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Probably at his own scene," McGee answered. "Why?"

"Do you really think Gibbs would stay at his scene when ours blew up not 500 yards away?" McGee looked at him.

"You're right. Something's off." They shared a look. "Let's find him." They briskly retraced their steps back to the first warehouse. As soon as the fire was behind them, they took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. As they did, their eyes grew wide in shock when they saw the structure had been nearly completely leveled.

"ZIVA!" Gibbs' voice reached their ears, and made them spring into action.

"Boss!" Tony called, moving directly into the collapse zone to follow the sound of Gibbs' voice.

"We need some help over here!" McGee called to some nearby firefighters. They heard and came running. "Our boss is under there," the younger agent motioned with his hand. "One of our colleagues was with him, but we haven't heard her say anything yet."

"Boss?" Tony called, moving carefully over the rubble, doing his best to ensure his movement wouldn't cause anymore damage.

"Dinozzo!" Gibbs barked. Tony paused, and then shifted his path after re-estimating Gibbs' location. "Where's Ziva?" Tony was now almost directly over top Gibbs. He shifted some of the rubble, clearing just enough so that he could see Gibbs lying under some scrap wood a couple feet below.

"Boss! You all right?" Tony asked. By now, he had been joined by McGee and the firefighters. A few paramedics had followed as well.

"Where's Ziva?" Gibbs asked again, ignoring Tony's question.

"Wasn't she with you? Is she down there?"

"No! She was, but some paramedics came and got her out." Tony shot a look towards the paramedics that had joined them. They shook their heads; no one had even realized the two agents had been in the building that had collapsed.

"Boss, I have some paramedics here with me, and they haven't seen her. We didn't even realize your building had collapsed until a few minutes ago."

"Dammit Dinozzo! Two paramedics came, Malik Abdullah and Joshua Henson. They got her clear of the collapse site. Where is she?"

"Sir," one of the paramedics told Tony in a hushed voice, so that the man beneath them did not get anymore agitated. "There isn't anyone by that name at the hospital that responded to the call. Either he's hallucinating—"

"Gibbs doesn't hallucinate," Tony said, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

"Or," the paramedic continued, "your colleague was abducted by people posing as paramedics." The man paused before continuing. "I hope it's the first option. Hallucinations are easy enough to fix."

"Yeah," Tony said. "I wish you were right. But my gut tells me that Gibbs is telling the truth. The bomb next door, the moved body, and now my friend missing… There's no such thing as coincidences, which leaves only one other option." He turned away from the paramedic and shifted his attention back to Gibbs.

"Boss!" Tony called down to the trapped man. "I think we have a serious problem." His words filtered down to where Gibbs lay. The Marine closed his eyes as the terrible truth hit home: Ziva had been taken as he watched, unaware and unable to do anything about it. She was injured, and had been subdued too quickly than was characteristic of her, even with her broken ribs. Which meant either she was more grievously inured than she had told him or the imposters had drugged her, or even both.

"Yeah, Dinozzo," he said softly, too softly for anyone but him to hear. "Ya think?"


	2. Chapter 2

"What did they look like, boss?" Tony asked. He and McGee had worked with the fire department to safely extract Gibbs from the collapsed building. The Marine was now sitting in the back of an ambulance getting checked out by the paramedics.

"Dinozzo," he said his voice communicating his annoyance and irritation, "it's pitch black and I was stuck beneath two stories of rubble. I didn't get a look."

"Right, sorry, boss." Tony's tone was immediately subdued. "It's just… We have a limited time frame, boss." Gibbs brushed away the paramedics as he stood swiftly and stood nose to nose with the senior field agent.

"You think I don't know that?" he said, his voice low, but intense. Tony took a step back, intimidated by his supervisor's proximity. Confusion crossed his features at Gibbs' lack of collectedness. Gibbs saw his reaction, and forced himself to relax, retreating a few paces. He started to pace. "There were two of them. Only one of them ever spoke, and he had an Arabic accent. The other guy, Stephen Lombardi, he didn't say anything, for all I know he didn't even speak English."

"Boss, could this not be about NCIS?" McGee spoke up. The other two men looked at him. "You said he had an Arabic accent. Well, Ziva must have a lot of enemies from the region, being Mossad and all. Perhaps she was targeted specifically for her position in Mossad."

"Yes," Gibbs agreed. "This was planned, and planned well. They staged the scene to get us here, blew up the second warehouse as a diversion, and used the dark and the commotion to get her away without being noticed." He slammed his fist into the side of the ambulance, making the younger agents jump.

"Boss—" Tony started before being cut off.

"Those bastards took her, Dinozzo." His voice was menacing, but also full of guilt. "They took her, all I could was lay there and watch, thinking they were trying to _help_ her. So if you even think about telling me to calm down, I will tell you exactly where you can put it."

His outburst left them all speechless. Gibbs turned away and ran his hand over his face. He knew McGee and Dinozzo were watching, and he fought to get himself under control. He knew that his guilt wouldn't help get Ziva back. They needed to move quickly; if the people who took Ziva were indeed from the Middle East, there was no guarantee that they would stay in the country.

"All right," he said finally, turning around to face his agents. "McGee, call Abby, see if there was a satellite in the area. Do whatever you need to, but get me a visual on what happened. Dinozzo, set up the floodlights and look for tire treads, trace, anything as to how they got her out of here." They both sprang into action, running to fulfill his commands. "Hey!" he shouted. They froze and turned back to face him. "Call me when you get anything," he said. "I'm going back to the Navy Yard."

"Boss?" Tony was obviously surprised that the older man did not want to stay at the scene.

"I need to get to MTAC," was all he said in clarification. And then he turned and made his way to his sedan. He got in, and without bothering to buckle his seatbelt, sped off in a cloud of dust.

* * *

A half hour later, he was standing in MTAC, waiting to be received by Mossad Director David. He paced impatiently, mentally cursing the man's tardiness, not caring about the seven-hour time difference. Finally, the screen in front of him became active, and a gray haired man sat in the chair featured on the screen.

"Special Agent Gibbs," Director David started, his voice, which was more heavily accented than Ziva's, nonplussed at the appearance of the American agent. "Do not think that your working relationship with my daughter gives you any special standing in my eyes. I do not take kindly to your presumption that you have any right to call me at all hours of the night."

"Director david, I am aware of your displeasure with me," Gibbs said, his voice just as curt as the director's. "But this is not about me, or your displeasure." He hesitated for a split moment before continuing. "Ziva is missing." Director David's eyes locked with his, but his expression remained neutral.

"Are you sure she is missing?" he asked, his voice calm. "She is adept at disappearing when the occasion calls for it."

"I am aware of her skills," Gibbs replied. "There was an incident at a crime scene, where an explosion cause the building she was in to collapse. While she and another agent were trapped beneath the rubble two men posing as paramedics extricated her from where she had been pinned. One man had an Arabic accent and that, combined with their efficiency, leads me to believe that Ziva was targeted specifically due to her position with Mossad. It was carefully planned and successfully executed—these guys know what they're doing." Gibbs finished his report on the situation, only to hear silence as he waited for Director David to respond. The older man looked at him, his expression kept blank as he processed the information. Finally, the Israeli removed his glasses, and looked at Gibbs in a nonchalant manner.

"Thank you for the information, Agent Gibbs." With that, the director shifted his attention to someone off-screen, making a motion to have the feed cut.

"HEY!" Gibbs bellowed before the tech got a chance to cut him off. David looked at him in mild surprise, an expression that shifted to one of offense at the idea of someone so inferior speaking to him in such a way.

"What is it, Agent Gibbs?"

"I just told you your daughter was missing, _abducted_, and all you can say is thank you?"

"What would you have me do, Agent Gibbs?"

"I don't know," he said sarcastically. "Give us a possible list of suspects, some manpower, hell, how about you just give a damn that your daughter is missing!"

"Agent Gibbs, I do not think you understand the situation. Officer David has the same training as every other officer of Metsada. If she cannot succeed in besting her captors, she is on her own. We do not have time to send teams after every officer who goes missing."

"Except that she is not like every other officer—"

"This conversation is over, Agent Gibbs." This time, the screen went blank before Gibbs had a chance to respond. He ripped off his headset and threw it across the room.

"SON OF A BITCH!" He ran a calloused hand over his eyes and down his cheeks. He sighed, trying to get himself under control. His phone started ringing. He dragged it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "What?"

"Boss, we got something..." McGee's voice came from the other end of the line. "We got some luck with the satellite, we got a visual of what happened, though not much detail. From what we can see, we think they drugged Ziva as soon as they pulled her out, and then drove off with her in a black SUV."

"You better have more than that, McGee."

"I do boss. We got a license plate number off the SUV, and we put a BOLO out on it, but we didn't think it would be fast enough, even if we got anything off it in the first place. We are pretty much going with the idea of these guys being professional, so they would know how to ditch the car, or the plates, at the very least—"

"Get to the point, McGee."

"Right, boss. We noticed something hinky when we were accessing the satellite. It was picking up a digital signal from where the SUV was. Someone inside the car was making a call, boss."

"We can't do anything without a phone number, McGee."

"It wasn't a cell phone boss. Whoever was making the call used the Onstar feature of the SUV. We used the plate number and time stamp to search through the Onstar database. We managed to isolate the digital signature of the SUV. Boss, the Onstar feature has a built-in GPS."

"Do it," Gibbs said, his voice short.

"We did, boss. We have a location on the SUV."


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as McGee had sent him the coordinates of the SUV, Gibbs had raced out of MTAC and through the NCIS building until he reached the car-park, pushing agents and visitors alike aside in his haste. He squealed out of his parking spot, without bothering with his seatbelt, and out onto the street, swerving around cars and people as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did; he did not want to consider the possibility that he was too late. He didn't think he could go through another death, not one like Shannon and Kelly's.

A few minutes into his journey McGee called him again to tell him the SUV was moving. The younger agent fed him directions as the Marine focused on navigating the somewhat crowded streets of DC. Once he was out of the urban center of the city and in the Northern region of Virginia, the roads cleared out and he was able to gun the engine even more until he was racing down the interstate at almost a hundred miles an hour. Luckily, he wasn't spotted by any cops, so his trip was unhindered by any local LEOs.

An hour and half after he left the Navy Yard he swerved violently onto a dirt road that led to a deserted field. Slamming the car into park, he swiftly exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut. He gazed around the clearing, but saw nothing, let alone a black SUV. Still on the line with McGee, Gibbs put his cell phone to his ear and spoke with more control than he felt.

"Are you sure this is where the GPS said it was going to be?" he asked.

"Boss, this thing is accurate to within 50 meters. It should be there."

"There is _nothing_ here, McGee!" Gibbs pivoted again, making another visual sweep of the clearing. Again seeing nothing, he pounded his fist against the roof of his sedan in frustration. "Where is it, McGee?" He clenched his eyes closed in an attempt to keep his anger at bay and calm his thoughts.

"It should be there, Boss. It looks like you're surrounded by woods, could it be hidden in the tree line?" the younger agent asked.

"McGee—" Whatever Gibbs was about to say was cut off when he was struck from behind and his vision went black.

Back at the Navy Yard, McGee waited for this boss to continue, becoming concerned when he did not. "Boss?" he asked. "You still there? Boss!" Instead of hear Gibbs' voice respond, the line went dead in his hand. He looked at his cell phone in shock for a split second before taking action. He quickly typed in Gibbs' number into the GPS database while dialing another number on his cell.

"Tony, we have a problem."

* * *

When Gibbs came to, he found himself restrained by metal handcuffs, keeping his hands around the pole his back was leaning against. The room was dimly lit, and it took his eyes a few minutes to adjust enough for him to make anything out. As soon as he did, however, he did a visual sweep, looking for doors, windows, vents, anything that could help him escape. He silently thanked his Marine training as he kept his cool, calmly taking survey of his situation. As he gazed around his prison, his keen eyes alit on a dark form lying on the floor. A closer look sent adrenaline shooting through his system as he recognized the limp form.

"Ziva!" She didn't answer, or even move as he called out to her. Alarm filled him, and he struggled against the handcuffs, the need to reach her filling his mind. "Ziva!" She was lying on her side, unrestrained. Her eyes were closed, but the faint movement of her torso told him she was still breathing. Her body was completely lax, and he hated how vulnerable it made her look. A strand of curly black hair had fallen over her face, partially obscuring it from his gaze.

He felt blood trickle down his fingers as he continued to pull against the handcuffs, the metal cutting into his skin. From what he could see, Ziva had no visible injuries, but he needed to see for himself, touch her, wake her up so that he could know for sure that she was all right.

Time passed, and he made no progress on the cuffs without a lock-pick. He had no watch, and there were no windows, so he had no way of knowing how long he had been awake. He kept his eyes glued on Ziva's still form as his mind raced, furiously thinking of how he could get free, and then help Ziva get out of their prison. He had been lost in his thoughts for some time when something caught his attention and snapped him out of it. He searched the room again with his eyes… there. His heart leapt as he saw Ziva's fingers twitch slightly. As he watched, her breathing shifted, and though she didn't move, he knew that she was waking up. "Ziva," he said, his voice calm, though loud enough for her to hear. "Ziva, can you hear me?" Before his words even had a chance to be acknowledged, footsteps echoed down a corridor outside their cell, catching Gibbs' attention.

The door to the room slammed open, and light from the hall outside flooded in, silhouetting a man's form as he entered. Without even acknowledging Gibbs' presence, the intruder walked to where Ziva lay, and knelt next to her, roughly grabbing her arm. She moaned in protest, not quite fully awake from the effects of the drugs. The man pulled something out of his pocket, which Gibbs recognized as a syringe.

"Hey!" Gibbs shouted. "Don't touch her!" The man ignored the Marine's outburst, instead taking the cap off the needle and straightened Ziva's arm, preparing to inject the contents of the syringe into her bloodstream.

Just as the needle was about to pierce her skin, another figure appeared in the doorway. A few harsh words, in a language Gibbs deduced was Arabic, halted the first man's motions. He looked up at the newcomer, as if surprised to see him.

"We need her awake," the figure in the doorway said in a deep timbre. The first goon hesitated, and then deferred to the man's authority, recapping the sharp needle before pocketing it once more. More Arabic came from the door, and two more men entered. One hung back, next to the doorway, but the other joined the first man by Ziva. They each grabbed one of her arms, clearly intending to pull her from the floor. However, before Gibbs even had a chance to protest their actions, Ziva herself became aware of what was happening.

She sprang into action, swiftly throwing out a booted foot to smash the first man's ribs, and then cold-cocked the second with her elbow when he didn't react quickly enough. It was enough for them both to release their hold on her and she rolled backwards over her shoulder to smoothly get back on her feet. They recovered quickly enough, and as soon as she was on her feet they were on her. She landed a few punches, blocked the ones sent her way, and then managed to quickly disable them both by throwing them to the ground. Gibbs was impressed, but knew that she had trained for this exact situation by working with Mossad.

She jumped over the men as they attempted to recover, her eyes darting around the room frantically as she looked for an unobstructed exit. Gibbs cursed his restraints, and looked on in horror as her eyes finally found him. She froze, only for a split second, but it was enough for the third goon by the door. He used Ziva's distraction to come up behind her. She reacted, bringing up a knee to hit him the groin, but it was too late. His own knee came up and landed a solid blow to her ribs. Gibbs winced, remembering how she had said her ribs may have broken when the building had collapsed on them.

Ziva gasped in pain, and the man wrestled her to the ground, pinning her with his knee to the middle of her back. Struggled against his hold furiously as he pulled her arms behind her to handcuff them together, but her movements proved fruitless as the cold metal clicked shut around her wrists. She continued to writhe beneath him, even managing to get a knee underneath her to push against his overbearing weight.

At this, the man who had issued orders before left the light of the doorway and calmly approached the struggling pair. Ziva's knee had slid out to the side in an attempt to find better leverage with which to push the man off of her, and the boss-man, as Gibbs had named him, noticed its position. Without hesitation, he lifted his foot up, and then slammed it down on Ziva's exposed upper leg. Gibbs froze as a sickening crunch could be heard and Ziva cried out in pain. Her struggles ceased as she went stiff from the agony, attempting to ride out the wave of pain. Without so much as a second look, the boss-man returned to his position by the door.

The man holding Ziva was joined by one of the two she had floored just moments before, and together they roughly pulled her up. The movement shook Ziva from her pain-induced stupor, and she once again began to struggle, her feet scrabbling for purchase as she attempted to throw her weight around and dislodge their grip. The broken leg proved to be too much of a hindrance, however, and they dragged her unceremoniously from the Gibbs' sight.

"ZIVA!" Gibbs shouted. The boss-man, who had remained behind, turned to him. He shut the door, throwing the room back into darkness, and then walked over until he was just a few feet from the cuffed NCIS agent.

"You should not have followed us, Agent Gibbs," the boss-man said, crouching so that they were on the same level. "We had no interest in you." The man, whose face Gibbs could not see clearly in the dim light, regarded him for a moment. "You are honorable though. I respect that. She is not even one of your agents, and you still went after her."

"She _is_ one of my agents," Gibbs growled. "And you better hope that these cuffs hold me, because the second I am out of them I will put a bullet in your head." He could see the man's cheeks bulge as he smiled at Gibbs' statement. "Why Ziva?" Gibbs asked, his tone still fierce.

"Do not tell me you have not already figured it out, Agent Gibbs. I have heard very much about your skills, both as a Marine and as an investigator. Your American television shows always depict criminals refusing to tell their adversaries of their plan, thinking of the cliché of the good guy using the information to thwart them later… I do not have such qualms, Agent Gibbs. We are not the bad guys, Agent Gibbs, even if we are criminals."

"And Officer David _is_ the bad guy?" Gibbs demanded. "You drug her to the gills and then break her leg while she's pinned by one your cronies, and you think _she's_ the bad guy?"

"Officer David? No, Officer David is not a bad guy. She is like us, nothing more than a tool. _Director_ David, on the other hand, is a very bad man, Agent Gibbs. He has killed more of my people than any of his predecessors. Even the noncombatants of our villages are preyed upon on his orders. Ziva has the misfortune of being the man's only Achilles' heel."

"Director David won't give you the time of day," Gibbs told him. "He barely took the time to hear that she was missing. He won't even give you that. It's pointless to try using her as a bartering chip." Boss-man laughed.

"Agent Gibbs," he said, his tone mirthful, "you Americans are incredibly naïve. If I had been talking to Officer David, she would have known exactly what was happening before we even had this conversation. Granted, she has done the same as us herself, in her years of a Mossad officer." The man paused, looking long and hard at Gibbs. "Officer David is the monster's weakness not because he cares about her, but because she has information. His schedule, his places of residence, how to gain entrance to his domiciles… all of these are in Ziva David's head. We took her so we can gain access to her knowledge."

"She's not going to tell you anything." Gibbs felt panic clawing at his insides, knowing where this was headed.

"Not voluntarily," the man conceded. "She is too well-trained for that. But I am sure she has told you herself: no one can last forever under torture." With that, the man stood from his crouched position and left, shutting the door behind him with an ominous slam. Gibbs felt panic seep deeper into his bones and his breathing sped up as he began work against the cuffs again, his movements growing more frantic by the second, until the blood began to run down his wrists once more as he threw himself against his bonds.

"ZIVA!"


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs didn't know how much time had passed since they had dragged Ziva from the room. It had felt like days, but he knew that his estimation was probably wrong, distorted from concern and a lack of natural light. It had been quiet so far, but not knowing what was happening to Ziva still worried him. Time seemed to pass at a snail's pace as he sat against the pole. He had been unable to break free of the cuffs, and he had ceased struggling long ago, after his hands had gone numb.

As he sat, he went through everything that had happened, thinking of all the ways he could have prevented their current situation. He shouldn't have answered his phone so late in the evening. He shouldn't have let his team process that deathtrap of a warehouse. He should have been able to protect Ziva when the false paramedics had "rescued" her. His instincts should not have let him get sneaked up on like he had been in the clearing while looking for the damned SUV.

Briefly he wondered if McGee and Dinozzo had any luck in discovering what had happened to him. He cursed them for not finding Ziva and him yet, before realizing it wasn't their fault. These people were professional and well-trained.

He was thinking about dinner he was supposed to cook for Ziva when the screaming started. Cries of agony echoed down the corridor and into the room, reverberating through him. The sounds ripped through his heart, and his insides twisted in outrage. His struggles against his bonds began again, and he pulled furiously as the yells of pain continued.

But then, the cries stopped, and Gibbs froze at the sudden silence. Alarm filled him as he searched for an explanation for the cessation of sound—they wouldn't have… No. She was no good to them dead. They needed her alive. She had information they needed, and she would not have given the information so easily… would she? Dread filled him as he realized he had no clue as to what was happening. He was just beginning to panic when he heard her scream again, and relief flooded him. It was followed quickly by guilt that he was relieved that she was still in pain, still crying out in agony.

He knew that she must be in excruciating pain to even admit that she was hurting, let alone give her captors the benefit of hearing her vocalize her pain. He shoved the thought from his mind. If he could hear her, she was still alive—that was all that mattered. They could make it through anything else. He would help her through whatever injury, mental or physical, she was left with, just so long as she stayed alive.

The punctuated periods of pain and silence repeated themselves as Gibbs sat, able to do nothing but listen helplessly. Each time silence fell, he worried that she would never start again, that she wouldn't have the breath to scream. But then her screams would be heard, and his fears would be assuaged until the next silence fell. Sometimes he would doze off when the silence fell, only to be reawakened when the period ended. He realized that if he needed to sleep, then so did Ziva, and it was obvious that she was not being allowed to rest. The stuttering of naps further distorted his perception of time until he was no longer sure how long he had been there.

As the cycle continued, Gibbs found himself unable to concentrate on anything but Ziva. He noticed that her cries varied. Sometimes there were yelps of torment, others more drawn out, and still others were shrieks of anguish. He could only imagine what was being inflicted to elicit each variation, and he had to force himself to think about something else, anything else. He tried calling out to her, to let her know that he was there, that he hadn't left her, but he soon ceased his shouting. One thing he was glad for was that she had not called out to anyone in particular, especially that she had not cried out for him to help. If she had, he knew that he would have lost it.

Hours and hours of sitting confined in the room started to make him feel sick. He needed to get up, to run to her, save her. It should be him being interrogated, not Ziva. And especially not about her father; she was being tortured because she was protecting the man who hadn't even batted an eye when he discovered her missing. Again he cursed Mossad Director David; his only true gift to the world was the woman being tortured down the hall. Suddenly, he understood Ari Haswari's desire to kill the Director: he himself now wanted to do the same thing. Thinking of what he could do to the Director of Mossad provided enough of a distraction that he didn't notice that Ziva's cries had ceased yet again.

Gibbs was dozing again when a sound woke him. He was immediately alert, searching for the source of the noise. Ziva was silent, but he didn't know whether to be thankful or worried. The sound same again: a scuff of a boot in the hallway outside. The step was isolated and furtive, distinctly different from the cocky swagger of his captors. He listened carefully for a repeat of the sound, but his efforts proved fruitless as several minutes passed and nothing could be heard. He briefly considered calling out to his would-be rescuer, but he realized that if the person in the corridor was indeed there to rescue him and Ziva, then stealth would be of the utmost importance. He remained alert however, searching for any further indication that their hellish experience would end. He didn't have to wait long.

The door to his cell burst open to bright light and a stream of black-clad gun wielders, all of whom began shouting commands of "Get down!" in authoritative voices. He turned his head to avoid the bright light that back-lit them, and when his eyes adjusted, he noticed the white lettering on their vests—SWAT. But looking at another man showed different lettering—HRT. Genuine, guilt-free relief flooded him. The elite of the local police and FBI hostage rescue would make short work of their captors. He could only hope they were in time to save Ziva.

The cuffs around his wrists popped open, sending tingles up his arms as blood flow returned. Strong hands helped him up from his position on the ground and ushered him to the door. He immediately moved in the direction he had seen Ziva being dragged to, but the helping hands turned into restraints as they pulled him in the opposite direction.

"Please come with us, Special Agent Gibbs," the man nearest him said.

"I have an agent down there," he growled back, pulling against the offending hands.

"That area has not been cleared yet. You have to leave and get checked out by the paramedics." The SWAT officer paused. "If she is down there, sir, we'll find her." His words appeased the Marine just enough for him to allow himself to be practically dragged out of the building.

He was mildly surprised when he emerged into the bright outdoor. He was nowhere near the woods he had been in when he had been taken, instead in the middle of a industrial park, full of blocky concrete buildings. The SWAT team guided Gibbs to the waiting hands of the paramedics before returning to join the rest of their teammates still in the building. Gibbs was busy fending off the fluttering medics when a shout caught his attention.

"Boss!" The Marine turned and saw McGee and Dinozzo pushing their way through the swarm of officers and agents, which Gibbs had noticed bore insignias from most of the alphabet agencies. He cut of their words before they even had a chance to speak.

"Where is she?" he demanded. They paused and looked at each other before responding.

"They haven't found her yet, Boss," Tony answered. When Gibbs pegged him with a hard look, he continued. "I'll go get an update," he said. "Glad to see you're okay, boss." And then he turned and made his way to the temporary command post that had been set up. McGee launched into a report of how he and Abby had been able to locate the industrial park, but Gibbs interrupted him.

"How long?" he asked, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

"Boss?"

"How long has it been, McGee?"

"Just over 72 hours, boss." Gibbs' heart plummeted. Three days. He remembered Ziva telling them once that a competent interrogator would be able to extricate desired information in a matter of hours, a day at most. But Ziva had been interrogated for three days. Gibbs had never been a religious man, but he found himself sending a silent plea to whoever, or whatever, was listening to let Ziva be found alive.

Then he felt the hands of the medics touching his bloodied wrists, and three day's worth of anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. He turned and stepped in close to the young medic, stopping only when they were nose to nose. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing.

"Touch me again and I will snap your neck." The paramedic paled and took a step back.

"I was just cleaning—" his words died off as Gibbs closed the distance once more, nailing him with an icy glare. McGee came to medic's rescue.

"He's fine," the young agent told him. "I'll make sure he gets checked out by a doctor later." The young man nodded and quickly disappeared.

"Boss!" Dinozzo called. Gibbs turned to see the senior field agent trotting towards him, followed by a SWAT officer.

"Special Agent Gibbs," the black-clad man said, not wasting any time to introduce himself, "we have searched the entire building. We found a room down the hall from where we found you—"

"You found her?"

"No, sir. We have not located her. We found four men, all double-tapped to the heart. Someone got to them before we did." Gibbs flashed back to the sound of a boot scuffing against cement, and he realized the sound hadn't belonged to a SWAT officer.

"And whoever eliminated them now has Ziva."

"That's what we believe at this time, sir. We are going to search the other buildings in the area, but I don't think they would be foolish enough to keep her here. This alphabet soup we have going on here tells me that these aren't your run-of-the-mill criminals."

"You're right," Gibbs agreed. "Thank you for your report," he forced himself to say. The man nodded and left. Gibbs turned and walked towards the NCIS truck, attempting to put some distance between himself and the chaos of the "alphabet soup". He ignored the soft words McGee and Dinozzo sent his way. His thoughts raced as he pondered what could have happened to her. This was becoming more and more complicated, and bigger than he could have imagined. And Ziva, his Ziva, was caught in the middle of it.

He knew that eventually he would have to go back into the building to process the scene. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to see evidence of Ziva's torture. What would he find in that room? Her blood? Her skin, hair, fingernails? He did want to see the corpses of their captors, but he could do that in the morgue, a cold clinical setting in which he would not be reminded of his failure to protect Ziva.

A bustle of movement on the far side of the lot caught his attention. Two men guiding a third figure towards a dark SUV. Time seemed to stop and his focus tunneled as he recognized the dark haired woman between them.

It was Ziva. Her hair was limp and matted from sweat, and her skin was sallow, a stark contrast to the luminous gold it usually was. But Gibbs' heart jumped to his throat in joy nonetheless. She was limping to favor her broken leg. Gibbs knew she should not be on that leg, but the glazed look in her eyes told him she could barely feel it through the shock. The man on her right went around the car to get in the driver's side, and Ziva turned her head to track his movement sluggishly, giving Gibbs a clear look at her face. Dried blood trailed down her cheek from under her hairline at her temple, and from her nose. Her lip was split, still bleeding, and her cheekbones and forehead both sported abrasions over top still-developing bruises.

Vacant brown eyes met his, and he saw a flicker of recognition. Ziva took a few limping steps toward him, intent on reaching him, but the second man saw her movement and gripped her bicep. She struggled against him, feebly pushing away his hand. Her eyes never left his, and the vacancy in her eyes was replaced by a frantic look that bordered on panic.

He reluctantly tore his eyes from hers to look at the man restraining her. Rage filled him as his keen eyes recognized the offending figure—Michael Rivkin. As Gibbs watched, paralyzed, Rivkin pulled Ziva to him. When her struggles increased, he reached around from behind her and enveloped her in his arms, pulling her even closer to his chest. She continued to writhe against him, but the shock and her injuries made it easy for him to bodily force her away from her intended destination and back towards the car. Using one hand, he reached out and opened the car door, roughly shoving Ziva into the vehicle. Rivkin followed, the sound of the door slamming behind him shaking Gibbs out of his stupor.

"ZIVA!" he shouted, but it was too late. The car sped off in a cloud of smoke as the rubber tires squealed against the pavement before gaining traction and launching the car into motion. Gibbs managed to glimpse the car's license number before it turned the corner and he quickly turned around to run back to where McGee and Dinozzo were running to meet him.

"McGee!" he shouted, rattling off the plate number. "Trace it. By satellite, traffic cameras, whatever! Just get me the location of that car! Dinozzo!"

"Yes boss!"

"Car keys!" Tony hesitated before responding.

"Shouldn't I go with you?" he queried.

"No," Gibbs responded gruffly. "You stay here and monitor the trace. When the other acronyms get their act together, relay them our coordinates and have them follow." Tony tossed him the keys without further question.

"You got it boss." Gibbs sprinted towards the blue sedan he recognized as NCIS-issue. He jumped in and gunned the engine, throwing the car into reverse. He fishtailed expertly until he was facing the right direction. And then his foot slammed down on the pedal, and he sped off after Rivkin and Ziva.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay... here is what I am going to do. If I can finish this storyline by the time the next episode airs, it will remain part of this story. If not, then I will move this plot twist's chapters to a separate ficlet until the season is over and I can tack it all onto the end, making Something More a huge long story. Sound good? That way, we can have a whole lot of both kinds of storylines! Woot! Okay, on with the super duper long chapter!

* * *

Gibbs followed McGee's directions as he traced the path of the dark car through deserted streets. A sign told him he was still in Virginia, but the area was rural, and the roads lined with trees. Eventually McGee directed him out of the rural area, and into an area full of highways and interstates. His car passed underneath roads flying high above him, and he had an inexplicable experience of déjà vu. He didn't take the time to figure out why the situation was familiar, but when McGee finally told him to stop in front of yet another warehouse, he couldn't help but remember.

The building in front of him looked almost exactly like the warehouse Andy Hoffman had taken Ziva to. Remembering what had happened to Ziva during that incident, dread filled him. Ziva had almost died, and that was while she was alert and in good physical condition. Now she was injured, exhausted, and in shock. He doubted that she would be able to protect herself against Rivkin, especially given how easily he had been able to force her into the SUV in the first place.

Rivkin. His blood boiled at the thought of the bastard. Gibbs had managed to forget about Ziva's fling with her fellow Israeli, knowing that she was being honest when she told him why she had slept with her partner in the first place. Her guilt was proof enough of that. They had moved past it, leaving the incident in the past. But now he was back, and Gibbs' gut told him that his presence was indicative of something more than simply following Director David's orders.

He stopped the car a good distance from the warehouse, not wanting to alert Rivkin and his crony to his presence. He hung up with McGee after being told the SWAT and HRT teams were on their way, and then stealthily crept the rest of the way to the warehouse. His Marine training again proved itself useful as he managed to slip into the warehouse unnoticed, and swiftly hid behind a line of stacked crates that stood by the door. From his position, he could see the majority of the wide open space in front of him. A shout of quick Hebrew alerted him to the presence of his quarry.

He turned to see the unnamed man from the industrial park shove Ziva towards Rivkin, who stood in the center of the room. A swelling black eye and split lip on the crony's face explained the handcuffs around Ziva's wrists, pinning them behind her back. She barely managed to keep her balance as she staggered from the push, but Gibbs couldn't help but notice that her eyes had cleared and she seemed more alert. She straightened herself as much as she could and glared at the man who had taken her.

Rivkin fired off something in Hebrew, but she didn't respond, instead shifting her attention away from in a clear act of ignoring him. Rivkin spoke some more, but still she refused to respond, unimpressed by his words. Fury crossed the man's face and he stepped close to her, gripping her by the hair and forcing her to look at him.

"You will answer when I speak to you," he growled at her in English. At this she finally returned his eye contact, a sneer curving her lips.

"Swine are not worthy of speaking to in Hebrew," she responded, her voice venomous. Suddenly, Rivkin spun her into him, using an arm around her torso to pull her to his chest. She hissed with pain as he compressed her broken ribs, but refused to cry out. Then a knife appeared in his other hand, and which he pressed to her throat, making her tense.

"There," he said, his lips brushing her ear. "That fire I liked so much. You had lost it, last time I saw you, but it has rekindled."

"What the hell are you doing Michael?" she asked. "The Director will hear about what has happened, and Gibbs saw you. They will both figure out what you are doing and if Gibbs doesn't kill you, my father will—you know that."

"I know that your father intended for us to be together, Ziva. I need only explain my actions, and he will commend me for taking charge of the situation."

"Do not be a fool," Ziva snapped. "There is no situation to take control of. I told you before I returned to NCIS—"

"The Americans have destroyed what we had!" The knife, which Ziva had momentarily forgotten about, pressed harder against her throat. "If Gibbs saw us before—he was the one you were trying to go to." Fury burned in his eyes. "I had just saved your life, and you go to him?" His voice had risen in volume, and Gibbs saw alarm flash in her eyes as she heard an uncharacteristic instability in her old partner's demeanor. "He," Rivkin continued, pressing the knife closer, "is weak." The hand not holding the knife left her waist and sensually began trailing south. "You used to appreciate a _real_ man. Remember how I made you feel, Ziva?" His straying hand cupped her firmly between the legs. Gibbs moved, fully intending to pull Rivkin off her and beat the bastard within an inch of his life, but stopped himself when he noticed the gleam in Ziva's eye.

With a snarl she snapped her head back, her skull connecting with his face with a soft crunch. With a yell of pain, Rivkin dropped his knife and released his hold on Ziva to bring his hands to his nose. Ziva took the opportunity to push away from him, stumbling a few feet away. Gibbs grew alarmed as she almost lost he balance, but she miraculously remained on her feet. She turned to fix a defiant glare on him. Rivkin reacted far too quickly, striking out with surprising speed. His hand connected with her face, and the force of the blow knocked her off what little balance she had. She landed hard on the cement floor with a guttural grunt, her cuffed hands unable to brace herself.

In an instant, Rivkin was on her, his knife recovered and once more at her throat. Gibbs was proud to see that there was no fear in her eyes, even as the blade nicked her skin, letting loose a small trickle of blood.

"Do not push me Ziva," he warned as blood from his nose flowed over his lips. Eyes watering from pain gazed on her prone form. "You are beautiful, love. I would have given you everything."

"You have nothing I want," she responded in a scathing voice. "You have a knife to the throat of a woman who has been tortured, her leg broken, with her hands cuffed behind her. You aren't even a man anymore, Michael. What could you possibly offer me?" Rivkin froze as her words hit home. Then rage was evident on his face, but before he could respond, Ziva brought her good leg up to slam her knee between his legs. She quickly rolled away from him as he collapsed. She used her good leg, her only available weapon, to lash out again and again. She aimed for any part of him she could reach from where she lay—face, arms, torso, and legs were all subject to her wrath.

At this point the second man jumped in, grasping Ziva's hair and dragging her away from Rivkin. Gibbs knew that Rivkin's control was deteriorating, and the situation was quickly deteriorating. He cursed silently, wondering what was taking his back up so long. They should have been there by now. He kicked himself for not thinking of grabbing a firearm before leaving the industrial park.

But Rivkin had recovered slightly, and barked in Hebrew. The second man released his hold on Ziva. Rivkin grabbed her throat and pulled her off the floor, towards him. Bringing her face towards his, he looked deep into her eyes. His whispered words alarmed Gibbs, and he knew he had to move, back-up or not. "I would have given you everything."

And the hand on Ziva's neck clamped down, effectively cutting off her air supply. She tried to twist away from him, but she could not even make a sound, his grip was so tight. Gibbs sped towards the aisle at the end of the crate-stacked row he was hiding behind. Just before he reached it, a vaguely familiar voice shouted, making him skid to a stop. The shout was joined by two new voices, both of which were yelling. Gibbs withdrew back behind the crates, but remained close to the aisle as he peered at the man he had before only seen in MTAC—Director Eli David himself. Gibbs watched as the Mossad Director stalked through the warehouse towards Rivkin and his daughter.

Two men ran to Rivkin and Ziva, shouting in Hebrew. Rivkin did not release his grip until the newcomers struck him and physically dragged him away. Ziva gasped as she sucked in a lungful of air, but then started coughing, wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. She instinctively rolled into a fetal position in an attempt to use her legs to brace her damaged ribs. Her right leg was sluggish and unresponsive, and Gibbs knew the deteriorating mobility would only get worse the longer it was left untreated.

Rivkin was dragged a few yards away from where Ziva lay, and the rage had left him as he realized whose presence he was in. The Director moved forward until he was between his daughter and Rivkin. Then he stopped and voiced an order, his tone hard with displeasure. The two men restraining Rivkin immediately moved towards Ziva. Gibbs grew alarmed as the approached her, but as they helped her to her feet, and waited until she had found her balance before stepping away. Her breathing was still heavy, but her coughs had subsided, allowing her to draw fairly even breaths.

All four officers waited for Director David to speak. When he finally did, his voice was calm, though the power in his voice remained clearly evident. He held out his hand as a Hebrew command left his lips. The man to Ziva's left stepped forward, removing his sidearm and placing the hilt in the Director's waiting palm. The older man gripped the gun and flipped the safety off expertly. In the blink of an eye, he had swung the gun around and fired, putting a bullet between the eyes of Rivkin's henchman.

Ziva and the two who had helped her stand didn't even flinch, but Rivkin took a step back as the gun swung around to point towards him. Before he had a chance to speak, two more shots rang out. Rivkin collapsed, but to Gibbs' surprise he continued to scream ad writhe after he fell. And then Gibbs saw the blood, and realized that the director had blown out both his kneecaps.

"Remove him," David ordered in English. Gibbs didn't know why he abandoned the Hebrew, but he was thankful that he could understand what was being said. Two additional men came into view briefly to drag him, still screaming in pain, from the warehouse. When silence had been restored, the Director issued another order. "Release her." His eyes studied the gun in his hand, flipping the safety on and slipping the gun into his waistband as the cuffs were removed from Ziva's wrists. While anyone else would have immediately rubbed their sore wrists, Ziva's arms simply fell to her sides. "Step away."

The men did so, leaving Ziva to stand unaided before her father. He finally gazed upon her, taking in her bloodied and bruised appearance. But he said nothing, instead waiting expectantly. After several minutes, Ziva rose to the bait.

"Aba—" As Gibbs watched, the director lashed out, the back of his hand connecting with the side of Ziva's face with a resounding smack that echoed throughout the warehouse. The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, her torso twisting to absorb some of the force. She remained on her feet, but for a few moments after the smack she remained still. When she finally straightened once more, Gibbs got a glimpse of her face. Her expression had transformed into a stony mask, and its presence worried Gibbs. She had shifted to it too quickly, as if she had simply withdrawn, and given how recently she had been in emotional shock, and her physical state, it could prove difficult to snap her out of it.

"How much did you tell them, Officer David?" The director's voice was cold and impassive. He had removed his gaze from her, as if she were not worthy of being seen by him.

"I told them nothing, Director." Ziva's response was just as impassive as his, though her voice was weaker; no doubt a result of her near-strangulation.

"And do you think I should be impressed, Officer David?"

"No, sir." Silence followed her reply as the director twisted the gold rings on his right hand idly.

"You were trained to be one thing, Officer. What was it?"

"To be the sharp end of the spear, Director." Her father sighed in disappointment.

"What you must have failed to realize, Officer David, is that the spear was meant to be used against the enemies of Israel. And instead you allow yourself to be used directly against the heart of your country."

"I would never betray Israel." The words seemed to erupt from her throat of their volition, as even she looked slightly surprised at her outburst. She immediately clenched her lips together, but it was too late. This time, a fist collided with her stomach. She doubled over with a gasp of pain, but she did not cry out. Gibbs' fingers clenched the crate in front of him in anger. Where was the damn SWAT team? He himself had no weapon, and if he attempted to go to Ziva's aid now, he would only get himself killed, which would be of no help to her. He forced himself to stay put.

"Do not insult me!" the Director shouted. "Everyone breaks under interrogation, Officer David. If Rivkin had not found you when he did, you would be telling those swine anything they wanted. You were trained to avoid becoming a chink in Israel's armor."

"I would never betray my country." Ziva's voice was softer as she repeated her earlier statement, but there was a note of defiance, knowing what kind of reaction it would elicit. Sure enough, Director David struck again, and still, Ziva did not resist or respond to the pain. This time, her lack of reaction enraged her father, and he continued to lash out, over and over. Gibbs could see Eli slowly losing control. The two men who had previously helped Ziva now stood idly, trying desperately to ignore the beating being dealt in front of them.

Ziva's broken leg refused to support her weight any longer, and she collapsed to the ground. This did not deter her father as he continued to rain blows on her, now kicking her as she attempted to curl into a defensive posture. Abandoning his weight for the SWAT and HRT squads, Gibbs acted. He left his concealment, stepping out into the open space of the warehouse with a shout to get their attention.

"Leave her alone!" The Director halted his onslaught to turn and look at the Marine. Gibbs stalked towards him slowly, carefully reining in his desire to kill the man with his bare hands. The director seemed to have similar thoughts of his own.

"Special Agent Gibbs." The director's voice was venomous.

"Gibbs." The weak voice that followed drew Gibbs' eyes down to where Ziva lay. She looked up at him, her face creased in pain. "No," she pleaded. He knew that she wanted him to leave, to avoid confronting her father, but to him that wasn't an option.

"_Sheket Bevakasha_," David barked over his shoulder at her, his eyes not leaving Gibbs'. "Agent Gibbs," he continued, "I have been waiting to finally seeing you in person."

"So I've heard."

"Surely you understand," he said. "You have lost a child. A wife as well. Did you not want revenge for their deaths as well?"

"I got my revenge."

"You do understand then. You took my only son from me. He was a good operative, worth his weight in gold. You took him away from me, eliminating my mole in Hamas and leaving me heirless."

"Last I checked, you had an amazing operative in your daughter, who you sent to the States."

"Ari was going to lead us to the heart of Hamas," Eli continued, ignoring Gibbs' comment. "We were going to rid Israel of her greatest enemy."

"Your precious mole hated your guts, Eli. He was ready to kill me and my team simply because I reminded him of _you_. He was going to let Hamas keep the weapons he promised to hand over to you; he had bought into the Hamas creed wholeheartedly, just so he could kill you."

"The only evidence of his betrayal is your testimony, Agent Gibbs. You must understand my reluctance to believe my son's murderer." Eli paused. "Which brings us back to the reason why I was looking forward to meeting you in person."

"No." Ziva moaned again. "Jethro—" The Director glanced down at his daughter incredulously, and then back at Gibbs, who saw the sudden comprehension on Eli's face.

"Yet another dishonor you have done me, Agent Gibbs. Now I understand why my daughter was so resistant to settling down with a good Jewish man. I had hoped that pairing her with her old flame would be enough, but I would have reconsidered had I known you had seduced her." He took the gun from his waistband, flipping the safety off. Gibbs didn't react. He was aware that he had no chance of dodging this bullet. He only hoped that the others would arrive in time to protect Ziva from her father, and that Dinozzo would fight to keep Ziva in America. Gibbs flashed back to the UN Gala Event so long ago, and Ziva's voice explaining the ease with which her father could order her death echoed through his mind.

Director David raised the gun towards Gibbs, and he remained still, resigned to his fate. "I restore my family's honor with this bullet, Agent Gibbs."

"Aba, no!" Ziva's voice rang through the warehouse. The force of her shout caused the Director to shift his attention slightly. She staggered to her feet, one arm pressed to her ribs. Her eyes were filled with pain, but she stood tall.

"Officer David, you shall remain silent and return to Israel with us, where you will be re-oriented to your role in Mossad. You will not return to America."

"Aba," she said, attempting to keep her voice steady. "Do not do this. Please, he is not—"

"I said you will remain silent!" he shouted. "Do not disobey me again. You have done enough; my own daughter, seduced by the man who murdered her brother."

"Aba, he didn't—"

"You shall remember your place, _bat_." His tone was caustic. "You have dishonored me already. You will be dealt with appropriately upon our return to Tel Aviv. But he must pay for what he has done—"

"I killed Ari!"

Silence followed her desperate shout. The two officers had frozen, their eyes darting between the two Davids. Eli slowly lowered his weapon, turning to give his full attention to his daughter. He didn't, or couldn't speak, and his eyes were bright with shock at her confession. Ziva took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Gibbs didn't kill Ari," she said, "I did. I followed Gibbs to his basement that night, and I heard Ari confess his intention to strike at the heart of Mossad. He had fully embraced Hamas, Aba, and was prepared to destroy Israel if it meant getting to you. And I shot him before he killed Agent Gibbs. Gibbs lied on the report to protect me, because he knew that there would be heavy repercussions."

"You lied to me, your father, and to Mossad…"

"Yes. I allowed Gibbs' report to stand, because I was too weak to admit what I had done. That I had killed my own brother. He told Gibbs that you had turned him into a monster, Aba, and it is true, he was one. He was not the man that you and I believed him to be. It is the truth, and though I have lost my brother, Israel is now one terrorist less." Silence followed as the revelation sank in. Gibbs was on guard, knowing that the situation could get even more volatile.

"Never," Eli said finally, "had I thought you would be capable of such an atrocity." His voice was thick with disappointment. "You have been carrying this burden all these years. Did you know Gibbs would lie for you when you killed my son?" The Director's words were ominous.

"No." Ziva's answer was concise.

"Then you shot Ari fully aware of the consequences."

"Yes, Aba." She looked her father in the eye. Eli met her gaze for a long moment before reaching up and rubbing his face tiredly with the hand not burdened by the gun. Then he let it fall again, and when his eyes opened, there was a hard gleam in them.

"You will not be disappointed." And then Gibbs' world exploded, and he watched as if it were in slow motion. The director's gun rose again and fired. Gibbs launched himself forward with a shout, but he was too late. The gun lowered as Ziva dropped, landing hard on the cement floor. Gibbs saw her go down, and all concern for his own safety left his mind as fear pierced his heart.

"ZIVA!!" he shouted, sprinting to her side. Just as he fell to his knees next to her, he heard Director David order something in Hebrew.

"We are done here," Eli said, switching to English for Gibbs' benefit. The Marine ignored him, his focus entirely on the woman bleeding on the floor in front of him.

She lay on her back, gasping for air as she clutched her abdomen. Blood flowed thickly from between her fingers, making Gibbs' heart jump to his throat. "Nononono…" The words left his lips in a steady stream as he gently got an arm underneath her to gather her close to him, only vaguely thinking that she shouldn't be moved. But the thought was banished as she shuddered in his arms. He wormed his hand underneath hers, his fingers sliding on the slick warm blood as he pressed tightly against her wound. "Ziva, no. Ziver, come on, look at me. Look at me baby." Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her face a mask of pain. "Ziva!" he shouted. Her eyes flew open, quickly finding and focusing on his face.

"Jeth—" her voice gave out, and she gasped in pain, closing her eyes against the wave of agony. But they opened again quickly, and she looked up at him. "You… hurt…?" Gibbs closed his eyes, to keep his tears at bay. She was concerned about him, even as her blood pooled onto the cement around them.

"No, Ziver, I'm fine. I'm not hurt." His voice was husky. "Ziva, you shouldn't have…"

"Yes… Yes, I should have," she contradicted. "I could not let…"

"Dammit, Ziva, I was prepared to do what it took to keep you safe. I knew what could happen when I wrote that report. I wanted to protect you…"

"You… did…" Ziva coughed wetly, and blood flew from her lips. She choked, causing her to continue her wracking coughs for a few more long moments. A small cry of pain escaped her as she desperately tried to catch her breath. She gasped and wheezed, and Gibbs felt his tears trace paths down his cheeks. Her eyes closed, and he instantly panicked. He could hear sirens approaching in the distance, and a spark of hope flickered within him.

"No, Ziva, open your eyes," he pleaded. "Ziver, open your eyes. Don't leave me, not like this." Her eyes remained closed, and her struggles to breathe lessened slightly. "ZIVA!!" Her eyes flew open, and her gasping began again. "Ziver, they're almost here, you just have to hang on a little longer."

"Don't… know… can…" Her words and breath were erratic, and he watched as her bloodied lips struggled to form the words.

"Yes, you can. Promise me you will. Promise me you won't give up." Her eyes clenched in pain.

"Cannot… make… promise… keep…" Her words ended in a whimper that broke his heart. He knew that her coherency was deteriorating, she was losing too much blood, and he was lucky that she was still speaking in English.

"I know, you don't make promises you can't keep. But that's why you need to promise, Ziva. You need to promise you will keep fighting. Please, Ziver. Please, promise me." He continued to press on her gunshot wound, and the sirens were getting closer, but the pool of blood was growing—she was running out of time. She gazed up at him as she gasped, and through the pain in her brown eyes, he could see love. Under any other circumstance, he would have been thrilled to see it so clearly expressed, but now it was the last thing he wanted to see. It was just more vulnerability, one more thing that told him she was weakening in his arms. "Ziva, please."

Her eyelids blinked heavily, then squeezed shut in pain when she coughed again, bringing more blood to her lips. She heaved sharply, her next breath whining in her throat. Her hand weakly disengaged from where his was pressing on her abdomen, and reached up to caress his cheek. The blood on her fingers was warm and sticky against his skin, but he leaned into her touch nonetheless. A slight pressure from her hand brought his head down to hers, and he obeyed willingly. Her lips pressed tenderly against the corner of his mouth, and then traveled to his ear.

"Promise." He barely heard her whisper, and for a moment he thought he had imagined it. But then he looked at her pale face and saw a small, reassuring smile. He smiled back, but it faded when her brow furrowed and she began to choke. Blood flew as she convulsed with body-wracking hacks and coughs. She couldn't catch her breath, and Gibbs tried to sit her up more so she wouldn't inhale the blood. A small voice told him that if she was coughing up blood, it was already in her lungs, and it wouldn't matter, but he had to do something to try and ease her pain.

She started to seize, and Gibbs felt his world crash down around him, even as the sirens became deafeningly loud as they finally stopped outside the warehouse. "Ziva, come on, they're here, just hold on a little longer. You promised. No matter what happens, you promised. Please, just hang on." But this time her eyes didn't open, and she gave no indication that she heard him. "GET IN HERE!" he bellowed in desperation, when the paramedics didn't come in quick enough. Moments later, they ran into the warehouse, accompanied by the SWAT and HRT men and his own agents.

The paramedics saw them and rushed over, while Tony and McGee froze in shock at the sight of their coworkers. One of the medics slipped in the blood pool, but he recovered quickly, coming to kneel next to Ziva. "Sir, you're going to have to let her go." Gibbs didn't respond, and didn't loosen his grip on the woman trembling in his arms. "Sir, we need to examine her. You have to let go."

"I can't," he said. "I can't let her go." He paused before elaborating. "Gunshot wound. I'm applying pressure." The medic nodded. He started barking orders to his team. As Gibbs watched in horror, Ziva gave one final gasp, and then went limp in his arms, collapsing against his chest. The paramedics reacted immediately. They intubated her, but they were still able to find a pulse. Shouting ensued, and Gibbs looked on in shock as they smoothly replaced his hands with bandages and a paramedic applying pressure.

Then they had gathered her onto a stretcher and they wheeled her swiftly to the ambulance, even as they began to shout for blood. They loaded her into the ambulance, and Gibbs couldn't help but notice that Ziva looked too frail, too pale. She looked weak and vulnerable, lying so limp on the stretcher. She didn't wake up, and part of him was glad that she was no longer in the immense pain she had been in just a few moments ago. Arms pulled Gibbs away, and he let them for a moment before twisting out of their grip.

"I'm going with her," he said authoritatively. The nearest paramedic shook his head.

"Not this time sir. There isn't room."

"The hell there isn't," he responded with a growl. "I am going with her." The paramedic didn't back down.

"Sir, if you want her to have a chance, then you will give them room to work by following in your car. You can follow directly behind the ambulance so you arrive at the hospital when they do." Gibbs hesitated, and then nodded.

"Fine. Which hospital are they taking her to?"

"Inova Fairfax." Gibbs nodded in thanks and then turned away.

"Dinozzo!" The senior field agent immediately tossed him his keys. The Marine was on his way out when a shout caught his attention.

"Agent Gibbs, we need your statement!" Gibbs stopped in his tracks. Then he turned, and he made no effort to hide the look of murderous intent on his face. Luckily for the hapless FBI agent who had spoken, Dinozzo and McGee planted themselves between the agent and their boss.

"You want to stand down there, man," Tony said. "We got this handled boss!" He called over his shoulder. Without responding, Gibbs turned and ran to the car. He flipped on the siren, and a moment later was speeding after the wailing ambulance.

"She promised," he reassured himself. "She promised."


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs paced the waiting room. He was attracting nervous and wary looks, but he didn't care. He had been waiting for hours, ever since they had rolled Ziva into the operating room on the stretcher. She had lost even more blood in the ambulance, he had seen, but the transfusions en route had kept her going. He had only managed to snag a glimpse of her when she had been wheeled into the ER. A neck brace had been fitted around her abused throat, and she had remained unresponsive as doctors swarmed around her to take vitals.

Forced to stay out of the emergency room, He had considered muscling past the nurses in his way, but he knew that they needed to focus on helping her, not keeping him out. So he had stayed outside the Emergency Room, walking back and forth as the hours dragged on. An orderly had come out only twice, both times just to tell him that she was still in surgery.

Five hours into his wait Abby had joined him. Tears had trailed lines of mascara down her cheeks, and she immediately pulled him into a giant hug.

"I was so worried!" she cried, her voice wobbly. "You were gone for, for days! And then we find out where you are, but we don't know if you're alive or not, or if Ziva was with you. I mean, we were pretty sure that wherever you were you were together, but we weren't sure. And then they go to the industrial compound, and Ziva was there, but then she wasn't—Oh my god, oh my god." He clutched her to him, his paternal instincts overtook his concern, and for a few brief moments he focused his attention to the Goth in his arms.

"It's okay, Abs," he whispered.

"No, it's not okay," she said into his shoulder. "Ziva could die." She pulled away from him and started pacing as she ranted. "Who would hurt Ziva? She's not supposed to get hurt. She's got crazy ninja skills. She can beat the crap out of guys twice her size." She looked at him fiercely. "Did you see who did it? Because if you tell me who it is, I can make it so that he mysteriously dies, without a single shred of forensic evidence." Gibbs almost smiled at her fierce protectiveness of her friend.

"That's gonna be hard, even for you Abs."

"I don't understand."

"Five are dead, one had his kneecaps shot and joined the last on a one-way trip to Tel Aviv."

"Tel Aviv? Why would a terrorist from the Middle East go to Tel Aviv? That's like, shooting at the First Lady and then knocking on the White House door." She looked at him. He could see the wheels turning in her head. "It wasn't a terrorist who shot Ziva, was it?" He shook his head. "Who?"

"Director David."

"Her _father_?" Abby's voice was quiet. "Gibbs…" He saw tears gather in her eyes. "How could her own father do that to her?"

"Because she wouldn't let him shoot me." His voice was quiet and full of guilt. "He was going to shoot me, because of Ari…"

"But, that doesn't make any sense. What could she have said that would make him shoot his own daughter?"

"I didn't kill Ari." He saw no further reason to hide it any longer. Eli David knew, and he had taken his revenge. "Ziva did." Shock filled Abby's eyes as she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed in a soft voice. "Her own brother?" Though her words were the same as the Director's had been, her voice was not accusing, but instead full of tender concern. "She killed her brother to save you." Her hands dropped, and she looked at him with a serious, piercing gaze. "I can't believe she would work with us after that. But she's a really good friend, and she's one of the best you've ever trained, you said. You're really lucky to have her, Gibbs." Her face creased with worry once more. "Oh my god," she said again. Before she could begin rambling again, Gibbs pulled her into another hug. As he embraced her firmly, he noticed that he felt cold. Her body was warm against him, but there was a perpetual chill in his core that had been growing since arriving at the hospital.

The forensic scientist remained at his side in the emergency room, and slowly the rest of the team began to arrive. Tony was the first to arrive, bringing Gibbs a change of clothes, which the Marine took without a word and went to the bathroom to change out of his blood-soaked outfit. He stood in the middle of the bathroom for a few long moments, staring at the rust-stained garments. They were stiff with the dried blood, but he didn't want to throw them out. Not because they could contain evidence, but because he couldn't help wonder that it could be the only thing he had left of her.

He pushed the thought from his mind and angrily shoved the clothes in the garbage can. She was going to pull through. She was going to fight. She promised him, and she always kept her promises. Always.

When he returned to the waiting room, McGee had also arrived, and was sitting with his arm around Abby. Ducky was just coming in through the pneumatic doors as Gibbs approached, and the old Scotsman made a beeline towards him.

"How is she?"

"Still in surgery, they won't tell me anything."

"What the hell happened, Jethro?" The older man's voice was full of concern, but there was an undercurrent of outrage, which Gibbs knew was not directed at him, but at the situation.

"Director David happened," Jethro said, his voice burning with hate. "The bastard shot her, Ducky, point blank."

"Dear God. What on earth happened to make him do such a thing?" The medical examiner looked at him for a moment or two, and then a flash of partial comprehension crossed his features. "Something to do with Ari, perhaps?"

"And with me, Duck." He ran a hand over his face tiredly. "Everything went wrong, and all I could do was watch." He looked towards the doors that separated him from Ziva. "She was in bad shape, Ducky."

"How bad?"

"They wouldn't stop hitting her. She had just been interrogated for three days and they used her as a punching bag. Her ribs are definitely broken. She thought they might have broken when the building collapsed, and then at the industrial park, and at the warehouse, they just kept—" He cut himself off. After a breath to calm down, he continued. "Her leg was broken at the second site, before Rivkin got to her. He tried to strangle her before her father showed up." He paused. "He shot her Ducky," he repeated.

"Where was her wound?" the doctor asked. Gibbs indicated on himself where the bullet entered. "My God. Was she responsive?"

"At first she was, she was speaking to me—she asked if I was hurt." He shook his head, recalling her concern, even as she bled out. "She could barely breathe, and she was coughing up blood. When the paramedics arrived, she began to seize."

"I'm surprised she even lasted that long, Jethro. That shot should have killed her within moments." Ducky paused, and then smiled slightly. "Though I suppose we should not have expected anything else from our willful colleague, eh?" Gibbs looked at him.

"Yeah," he agreed with a small smile. "You're right. We shouldn't have."

* * *

Sixteen hours after Ziva had been wheeled into the Emergency Room, the team was in various states of exhausted unrest. McGee was sitting next to Abby. He had his head leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, but every few minutes his eyes would fly open and he would look quickly around the room as if something had changed. Tony alternated between sitting and pacing, making frequent trips to the coffee machine to load his system up with caffeine. He offered Gibbs a cup every time, but every time the Marine turned it down, much to everyone's surprise. But the thought of consuming anything, even his trademark beverage, made him nauseous to the point of wanting to vomit.

Ducky sat on the other side of Abby, and they were leaning against each other. The Scotsman had long ago fallen asleep, and it seemed that Abby had too, though sometimes when Gibbs glanced over at her, her eyes were open and pensive. Every so often, he would see a tear escape, and he knew that she was afraid she might lose another good friend.

Fornell had even shown up, having heard about everything that had happened. He had picked up immediately on Gibbs' desire to be left alone, and he had respected that, instead finding a seat in one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the walls. Gibbs had assumed a position standing against the wall, his back resting against it as his arms were kept crossed against his chest. He had spent his time waiting for news trying to keep himself under control. He needed to hold it together, for his sake, for his team's sake, and for Ziva's sake. As each agonizing hour ticked by, he tried to tell himself that no news was good news, but he found himself slowly losing hope.

He kicked himself for making her promise to live. He hadn't been thinking about anything but keeping her alive, keeping her with him, and now he was discovering the reasons why he had been selfish. Why would he make her promise something that she had so little control over? And why did he ask her to suffer through god-knows-how much pain, just so that he wouldn't have to say goodbye to another loved one? His silent reverie was interrupted by the appearance of a doctor coming out of the Emergency Room.

"Family of Miss Day-vid?" he called, mispronouncing Ziva's name.

"It's Dah-veed," the room corrected in unison. They half-grinned at each other, but quickly shifted their attention to the doctor, congregating around him so they could all hear what he had to say. The doctor looked nervously at them, before clearing his throat and continuing. "I'm afraid I am only able to divulge information to Ms. David's next-of-kin. None of you seem to be related," he said carefully.

"I am her emergency contact," Gibbs said. The others glanced at him, as if hoping that he would say that they could listen in too. Instead he sent them a sharp look that sent them back to their chairs with displeased mutters and groans. Only Tony and Ducky remained behind.

"You're going to tell us though, right boss?" Tony asked. Gibbs looked at him, taking in his disheveled look, complete with dark circles under his eyes. He nodded once, and Tony visibly relaxed before going to join McGee and Abby. Gibbs turned back to the doctor who looked pointedly at Ducky.

"He's my translator," Gibbs said. Though he would probably be able to understand the doctor's prognosis, but having the medical examiner's presence next to him was oddly reassuring. The doctor let the issue rest, thankfully, and proceeded to introduce himself.

"My name is Doctor Burton, and I assisted on your colleague's surgery. Normally, the lead surgeon, Doctor Johnson, in this case, would deliver the status report, but she wanted to personally oversee Ms. David's transfer to the recovery ward."

"How is she?" Gibbs was barely able to mask his irritation at being kept from the information he really wanted.

"Honestly, Agent Gibbs, all odds would have had her dead within moments of getting shot. It seems that a number of her ribs were already fractured before she sustained the gunshot wound." Gibbs nodded in affirmation. "Well, the force of the bullet caused her ribs to shatter, sending shards of bone into several of her organs.

"When we got her into surgery, she was bleeding internally, losing a lot blood from her gunshot wound. We believe we managed to repair the damaged organ tissue, but we are keeping an OR open just in case she needs emergency surgery if she starts to hemorrhage again.

"She has sustained a pneumothorax of one lung, and her other lung was half-filled with blood, which was probably responsible for her difficulty breathing. We removed the bone that caused the damaged and sutured the lung. We have her on a respirator to keep her breathing until she recovers enough to breathe on her own." The doctor looked at them seriously for a moment. "Agent Gibbs, I was a trauma surgeon in the Middle East. Some of her more minor injuries indicate that she has been tortured."

"She was." Gibbs answered concisely, wanting him to get on with his prognosis.

"We haven't set her fractured femur yet. We want to let her other injuries heal before we did." The doctor looked at them. "The femur is the strongest bone in the body. It takes a lot of force to break it, and when it does break, the break often requires surgical repair. At this point, inserting the necessary plates and pins could prove too much for her system to handle at this point, on top of everything else.

"She had four broken phalanges on her left hand, two of which had multiple fractures. We inserted two surgical pins in her hand, but with physical therapy she should be able to regain full mobility. Her right zygomatic arch was also fractured, but that will heal on its own."

"Is she awake?"

"No. And she won't be for a while."

"Is she in a coma?" This question came from Ducky.

"Yes," Doctor Burton said with a nod. "Medically induced. She is not out of the woods yet. We have to tread carefully, because the longer she is under, the more difficult it will be for her to wake up. But at the same time, her risk of hemorrhaging is too great to chance her waking up and moving. She needs to remain motionless to maximize her chance of survival.

By all rights, Agent Gibbs, she should be dead. She should have died within moments of being shot. Her heart stopped three times on the operating table, but each time she came back. None of us in that operating room have ever seen someone in her condition fight so long.

"The next few days will be critical. She will be monitored closely for next 48 hours, and then we will be able give you a more definite, and hopefully more positive, prognosis."

"I want to see her," Gibbs said.

"Visitors aren't allowed in the recovery ward."

"Let me rephrase that," Gibbs said, taking a menacing step toward the doctor. "I am _going_ to see her." Ducky also stepped forward, fixing the doctor with a determined look. Behind him, Gibbs heard movement as the rest of his team backed him up. The doctor glanced at them, obviously intimidated by the show of solidarity.

"All right, all right. But not all of you can go in, and you can't stay long." He turned, and led them down the corridor, bypassing the emergency room itself to directly enter the Recovery room. Gibbs followed, after giving a nod of thanks to his team. Ducky followed, correctly assuming that Jethro might need his support and medical expertise. Once inside the recovery ward, Doctor Burton directed them to wait while he went to make sure Ziva had been situated. He left briefly, and upon his return, issued a warning.

"You have ten minutes. She is hooked up to a lot of different machines right now, and many people find it alarming. You can touch her, but be very careful of the various wires and tubes. Right now, they are keeping her alive. If anything happens while you are in the room, and any of her monitors go off, you will immediately leave the room to give the medical personnel room to work."

"We understand," Ducky said. "I shall keep an eye on the young lad, and make sure he does not touch anything he is not supposed to." Doctor Burton nodded.

"Room 156. Ten minutes." They nodded in acceptance and made their way toward the designated room. As they passed nurses and orderlies, eyes followed them, and whispers echoed in their wake as the personnel began to speak in hushed tones.

Gibbs ignored them, focusing entirely on one number until he saw it on the wall. One fifty-six. He stopped in front of the plaque. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself before stepping into the room. The moment he did, his eyes shot to the bed, and he immediately wished he hadn't.

"Oh, my poor dear," he heard Ducky say.

Gibbs' throat constricted painfully as he looked down at his lover. What little of her skin that could be seen under the bandages was pale, too pale for her usual golden complexion. Tubes and wires seemed to be draped from every direction. One snaked its way down her throat and to her lungs, and her chest rose with every puff of air the ventilator sent down her trachea. Blood and IV lines fed into the back of her hand, injecting vital fluids into her bloodstream. He counted three—no, four tubes trailing from her sides, and he could see blood-tinted fluid slowly draining from her chest cavity.

White bandages wrapped around her torso peeked out from beneath her hospital gown. A brace was still around her neck, hiding what he was sure would be angry bruises in the shape of Rivkin's hand. Small strips of adhesive bandage supported her fractured cheek bone, which had swollen considerably since the last time he had seen her. Gauze had been wrapped around her head, and the red tinge of bleed-through reminded Gibbs that she'd had a wound just behind her temple.

The blood from her nose and her split lip had been carefully wiped away, revealing that the wound had been worse than he had first thought. A jagged tear traced from just underneath her left nostril all way to below her lower lip. The flesh was swollen and inflamed, looking harsh against the pallor of her skin. Her left hand and wrist was bandaged and braced. Remembering the way the cuffs had cut into her wrists, he vaguely wondered if they had thought to look for ligament and tendon damage.

He stepped forward slowly, his eyes now focusing on how best to reach Ziva without disturbing any of her lifelines. Stepping carefully around the stands of hanging fluid bags and drainage contraptions on the floor, he finally made it to her bedside. Gingerly, he reached out and grasped her right hand.

Her small hand was cold and limp in his hand. He used his other hand to cover it, as if hoping to give some of his body heat to her. Images of her seizing in his arms and coughing up blood flashed across his mind. His hands tightened his grip as he forced himself to remember that she was alive, she was in a hospital where she could be helped.

The bed was about waist height, which made it easy for him to reach out and brush a strand of hair to the side of her face. He searched for any indication that she knew he was there, but he saw no movement at all, save for the machine-driven rise and fall of her chest. He felt tears fill his eyes once more, and though he did not want Ducky to see them, he couldn't bring himself to break contact with Ziva long enough to wipe them away. So they fell, coursing down his cheeks. He stroked her hair gently, careful not to disturb her bandage.

"I'm so sorry, Ziver," he said softly. Sensing his ten minutes with her was up, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her unbruised cheek. "I love you," he whispered, his words barely audible.

"It's been ten minutes, Jethro," Ducky said gently. He made no comment on Gibbs' actions towards the woman on the bed. "We do not want to displease the doctors if we would to ask similar favors in the future." Gibbs nodded. After a moment more of gazing at Ziva, he gentled returned her hand to the bed.

Then he stepped back, again careful to avoid the various machines and wires that surrounded the bed. He wiped his eyes calmly, erasing all evidence of his lapse in control. He followed Ducky from the room, only to be caught at the door by a doctor he didn't recognize.

"Doctor Burton gave us access—" Ducky started, quick to shift blame from the Marine. His words were cut off by a wave of the doctor's hand.

"No need to explain," she said. "I am Doctor Johnson, I was the lead surgeon during Ms. David's surgery. I must say I am surprised to even have gotten the chance to work on her; I've seen some damage in my time, but this—"

"Yes, Doctor Burton told us the same," Ducky responded.

"What are her chances, Doc?" Gibbs asked, his gaze serious.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. We did the best we could to repair the tears in the linings of her internal organs and stopped the hemorrhaging, but the bleeding could start again. The next 48 hours are critical. I assure you that she will have the best care, round the clock." The doctor smiled. "Every so often a patient comes in who catches everyone's attention. News of your agent's condition, and her perseverance, has spread throughout the ward, and the doctors and nurses have taken a special interest. There will be little difficulty for you and your team to visit Ms. David. If not for her high risk of infection at the moment, you would be able to stay longer with her now."

"I thought as much," Ducky said, a small smile on his face. "I was once at a hospital in Maryland, where—"

"Not now, Duck," Gibbs said gently. Doctor Johnson smiled.

"Agent Gibbs, you are listed as her emergency contact and she has given you power of attorney. We will need you to fill out some general forms, but it can wait for now." She paused, looking between the two of them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"Will she have a difficult recovery?" Ducky asked. The doctor clasped her hands over her clipboard in front of her as she answered.

"I don't want to build false hope, Dr. Mallard. Her condition is extremely unstable, and there are doubts that she will last the night." She paused, her gaze bouncing back and forth between them. Finally, she conceded. "If, and I mean if, she remains stable the next few days, and she comes out of sedation okay, then I believe she will be able to make a full recovery, barring complications. In a day or two, if her vitals are strong, we will go in and reset her leg.

"She'll need physical therapy, for both her hand and leg, but given how she toughed it out on the operating table, she will most likely be able to regain 100% mobility and range of motion." She paused for a moment to give them a chance to ask any more questions. "All right," she continued when they remained silent. "I need you to return to the waiting room, and we'll see what we can do about getting you another visit in a few hours, ok?"

"Thank you, Doctor," Ducky said. Gibbs remained silent, shooting one last glance towards Ziva's room before following Ducky back to the waiting room. There they found the team waiting eagerly for them to return. As soon as the other saw the two men, the room exploded into noise.

"How is she? Is she ok?"

"How does she look?

"Is she going to make it?"

The questions ran together until they were nothing more than senseless racket in Gibbs' ears. He stopped for a moment, but when they didn't quiet down, he turned to Ducky with a pleading look. The medical examiner nodded in understanding.

"I have this, my boy. Go get some fresh air." Gibbs gripped the older man's shoulder in silent thanks before leaving him to deal with the concerned mob. He was barely aware of walking down the hallway, but once outside the fresh air hit him, and it instantly woke him out of his trance. He propped himself up on the wall of the building tiredly, feeling the events of the last couple days catch up with him. His wrists ached, the torn flesh stinging painfully. He ignored the pain, simply shoving his hands in his pockets. He remained in that position for almost twenty minutes.

Dinozzo passed through the doors shortly after. He didn't see Gibbs at first, making it all the way down to the street before stopping, and then pivoting on his heel to look at the older man. He slowly paced back to where Gibbs was leaning. He let several moments of silence pass before speaking.

"Ducky said it'd be a while before you can see her again," Tony said, his voice hesitant. Gibbs merely looked at him. "Your place isn't too far from here," he continued quickly. "Maybe you could go, you know, change, take a shower, get some rest…"

"No," Gibbs said with a shake of his head, straightening to stand solidly on his feet.

"C'mon boss, you've just been found after being missing for three days. No one is going—" Something in Gibbs snapped. He gripped Dinozzo by the lapels and swung him around, slamming him into the brick wall. His palm slammed the brick beside his head as he leaned in close.

"I said no!" he bellowed, his nose less than an inch from Tony's. "I have already lost three people I loved because I wasn't there. I will not lose another!"

Gibbs fixed Tony with the fiercest glare the senior field agent had ever seen. The Marine saw surprise, shock, and even a sliver of fear in the younger man's eyes. He quickly reined in his emotions, reminding himself that Tony hadn't meant any harm. He took a step back, but didn't break eye contact. Dinozzo remained tense, in case Gibbs decided to lash out again. He didn't.

"I'm not leaving."


	7. Chapter 7

The next four hours passed just as slowly as the first sixteen had. It seemed that they had been forgotten about, as they weren't addressed again until Doctor Burton came in to speak with another family, and saw them there. He left, but returned quickly afterwards to tell them that Ziva had not had any alarms, and that two people had clearance to visit for another ten minutes. An unspoken agreement was reached and Ducky once again accompanied Gibbs back to room 156.

Gibbs took one step inside and knew that something had changed. Something was different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. His focus tunneled on Ziva, who remained still and unmoving on the white sheets. He retraced his earlier path to her bedside, but this time didn't touch her. He just looked at his lover, taking in every last detail. And then he knew his gut was right. Something about her had changed. It was a few moments before he realized what it was.

She seemed—less peaceful, than she had before. Her expression hadn't changed, it was still blank, but he could tell that she was in some sort of distress. It was then that he finally reached out to touch her hand, and it was in that moment that he knew what was wrong.

"Jesus," he said, "Ducky, get over here." Ziva's hand was warm, too warm. Her skin was slick, and he realized it was because a sheen of sweat had coated her skin. Her skin tone suddenly different; it was flushed slightly, which made for a sickly pallor when superimposed on her already-pale features.

"My lord," Ducky said as he laid a hand on Ziva's arm. He immediately reached up to feel her forehead. "This is not good."

"Ziva?" Gibbs asked. He felt foolish, knowing that she couldn't possibly answer him, but he could do nothing else. "Ziva, baby…" He looked at Ducky. "Get someone in here."

At that moment, Ziva's heart monitor started beeping erratically. An alarm outside the door alerted the nurses in the hall to what was happening. Three immediately rushed into the room, and Ducky had to pull Gibbs away from the bed, where he was still clinging to Ziva's overheated hand.

"Temperature's spiking! Heart rate increased!" One shouted. "Someone get Doctor Johnson!" And then the heart monitor started to trill sharply. "She's in tachycardia!" The nurse began barking orders. Dr. Johnson raced into the room, quickly surveying the scene before taking over.

"She's got a bleed! Get her back into the OR, tell them to keep the crash cart ready!"

"ZIVA!" Gibbs shouted instinctively, though he knew she couldn't hear. Dr. Johnson looked over her shoulder at him.

"Get them out of here!" she ordered. Ducky quickly pulled him out of the room. Only Gibbs' desire to not hurt the medical examiner kept him from doing everything in his power to stay with Ziva. He watched helplessly as they worked over her still form. Within moments they had pushed drugs into her IV line and were wheeling her out of the room.

"Ziva," he said as they pushed her past him. He moved to follow them, but Ducky held him back.

"Let them work, Jethro," he said. "They can help her, but only if you let them." Gibbs didn't respond, but he stopped fighting him. His shoulders slumped as he could do nothing but watch as they wheeled her around a corner and out of sight. Suddenly, he turned abruptly and lashed out, slamming his foot against the nurses' station.

"Son of a bitch!" he growled. He kicked the desk again not caring about the startled, and then pitying looks the nurses gave him.

"Jethro," Ducky started, but Gibbs cut him off.

"No, Ducky! She is in a goddamn hospital, and she's still dying! I should be helping her, but…"

"You thought it would be different," Ducky said, his voice quiet. Gibbs looked at him. "You thought," he continued, "that if you had been there for Shannon and Kelly, they'd be alive. And the same with Jenny. But now you're here for Ziva, and it doesn't seem to be making a difference." Gibbs didn't answer, but gave his friend a hard direct stare. His blue eyes were haunted, pained, and tired, and it twisted the Scotsman's heart to see the normally stoic man so hurt.

He lay a hand on Gibbs' shoulder, and the Marine reached up and gripped it firmly, as if taking strength from it. They stood there for a moment in silence before Gibbs broke the contact, brusquely turning away and making his way back out of the ward. He saw Abby look at him, and when she saw his haunted expression, her eyes widened in horror. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

"Oh no," she said quietly. She turned into McGee, who immediately wrapped his arms around her protectively. Gibbs approached quietly and put a hand on her shoulder. The Goth immediately left McGee and moved to hug Gibbs. He felt he shirt dampen as her tears started to fall.

"Abby," he said quietly. "Abs, they had to take her back into surgery. She's not—" he couldn't bring himself to say the dreaded word. He didn't have to. Abby looked up at him, mascara running down her cheeks.

"She's still alive?" she asked. Gibbs nodded.

"For now." He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Ducky came to his rescue yet again.

"Her temperature has spiked, and they think that she has sprung another bleed. They took her back into surgery to repair it." He left out the part about her heart going into tachycardia, and Gibbs was grateful. No one needed to know exactly how frail Ziva was. Their hope rested on the fact that they knew Ziva as tough, unbreakable. The longer they thought of this as a temporary setback, the better.

Gibbs kept Abby in his arms until she got herself under control. Eventually she wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. She withdrew after a long hug, and sat down in one of the chairs against the wall. McGee sat next to her, taking her hand in his. She gave him a sad smile in response. The rest of the team drifted to different areas of the room to wait.

Hours passed, and Gibbs' gut rolled and churned uncomfortably in worry over what was happening in the Operating Room. Was she still alive? How bad was the bleed? Did they manage to slow her heart rate? Questions and what ifs swirled through his head at a dizzying speed. He said little in those strained hours, but neither did anyone else.

When Doctor Johnson finally emerged from behind the doors of the Recovery Ward, the group were at various stages of dozing off. Gibbs noticed the woman first, straightening quickly and making his way towards her from his position against the wall. Concern filled him at her disheveled appearance. She saw his concern, and quickly spoke.

"She's still alive," she said quietly. Gibbs sighed in relief. "Her fractured femur was more grievous than we thought." She paused, and puzzlement crossed her features. "Did she _walk_ on her broken leg?" she asked. Gibbs nodded. "Unbelievable," she said in awe. "The bone had splintered, Agent Gibbs, and a shard nicked her femoral artery. She was bleeding out. We managed to stop the bleeding, and we removed the splinters. A plate was inserted to prevent further damage.

"Her heart rate is under control, but we're afraid that the scare may have been too much for her system to handle. It's doubtful that she'll make the night."

Gibbs felt his heart skip a beat as it threatened to stop in his chest. His mind went blank for several long moments as the words sank in. And then his thoughts exploded into rebelliousness. This doctor didn't know jack, not when it came to Ziva. Ziva was strong, stronger than these doctors could possibly realize. And she always keeps her promises. It didn't matter what these doctors thought; she was still alive, and she was going to make it.

The revelation didn't ease his worry, but it kept despair at bay. He wasn't going to think the worst, not now. He asked her to hang on, and so would he. He would believe in her until the end. He focused back onto the doctor as she continued to speak.

"We're keeping her in isolation for the next twelve hours, to reduce the risk of infection. The less work her body has to do at this point, the greater her chances." She paused. "Unfortunately, this means no visitors for the next twelve hours. We will give hourly updates on her condition." She hesitated. Looking seriously at Gibbs, she pressed her lips together. "In all honesty, Agent Gibbs, it doesn't look good. I would prepare for the worst." Gibbs resisted the urge to contradict her. "I'm sorry."

She turned and re-entered the ward, leaving a silent room in her wake. Gibbs shook his head, silently disagreeing with the prognosis. He heard Abby clunk towards him in her platform boots. He turned to face her.

"You don't believe her, do you Gibbs?" Her tone was almost pleading. He shook his head.

"No," he said seriously. "No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't give her permission." This came from Tony, who was walking towards them. "Remember when I was dying Abby? Gibbs didn't give me permission. And look at me now." His grim smile was out of character, as was his serious tone. "If she was having visitors I would tell her to be on the lookout for a love tap. I know from personal experience that being near death does not exempt you from…" He paused when he saw Gibbs hard look. "…Gibbs' affection."

"You're right," Abby said authoritatively. "She's going to be okay. Those doctors don't know anything. Well, they might know something, but not about Ziva. And if we all have positive thoughts, that'll help Ziva even more. She's going to be okay, because we all know her better than those stupid doctors." Gibbs smiled at her pep talk. He wrapped her in a one armed hug.

"That's right Abs." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "We know her best."


	8. Chapter 8

Twelve hours passed by at a snail's pace. The doctors made good on their promise to update them on the hour, though the prognosis never changed. She was always just on the brink, barely hanging on. But the team remained optimistic, holding steadfast to their belief that Ziva would fight. Gibbs finally ate some food and slept a little, exhaustion taking over him. He dreamed, while he slept. He dreamed of happy times with Ziva, with Shannon. But then he would find himself standing in front of a grave, but instead of it being Shannon's, the name on the stone read "Ziva David".

As soon as he had seen the name, he had bolted upright in his chair, nearly scaring McGee out of the chair next to him. The others had looked at him in question, but he didn't explain what had bothered him. He had simply stood, stretched his legs, and started pacing again, until the next update came in. And then she was still fighting for life in a hospital bed, not buried six feet in the ground.

He counted the updates as they came in, and when the twelfth finally came, everyone was waiting and hopeful. Dawn had crept into waiting area a few hours ago, and the night faded, leaving optimism in its wake.

"Agent Gibbs." Doctor Johnson had entered the waiting area, and looked at the Marine. He approached her, closely followed by the rest of the team. The good doctor saw them, but didn't insist on privacy. "She made it," she said with a smile. "There were no further complications and her vitals remained stable throughout the night after her second surgery." She shook her head in disbelief. "I've never seen anything like this before in my life. She's not quite out of the woods yet, but the fact she lasted throughout the night speaks volumes."

"Can we see her?" Tony was the one to speak, but the question was clearly written on all of their faces.

"Yes," Doctor Johnson said, her smile broadening. "You _all_ can see her briefly, but then we have to insist only one or two at a time." She stepped aside to allow them free access to the ward. "Room 156." And then the entire group moved forward, eager to see their friend and colleague.

Gibbs remained at the rear of the group, not wanting to risk breaking down in front of them again. He watched as the others filed into Ziva's room. Abby clutched McGee's hand with a gasp, shock crossing her features at the sight of her friend. Tony looked crushed the delicate state of his partner, who relied on the machines to keep her alive. Gibbs saw the familiar look of guilt and regret, and knew that the senior field agent was thinking of all the things he should have done differently, all the things he should have told her when he had the chance.

From his position by the door, he couldn't see Ziva, and he wondered if she still looked the same. He didn't have much time to ponder it before he sensed Doctor Johnson approach. She came to a stop next to him, looking in on the scene from the doorway.

"She's very lucky," she said to him.

"No, she's not," Gibbs replied, not looking at her. "She's a fighter. Always has been."

"I wasn't referring to her health. I was referring to the fact that she has people who care so much about her." Gibbs glanced at her. "She must be a very special person to have such faithful friends."

"She is." Gibbs voice was matter-of-fact. "She doesn't realize how special she is, or how much she means to us." He nodded with his chin toward the bed. "She'd do the same, and more, for us. She already has."

"It takes a strong woman to hold on as long as she has." The doctor turned fully toward him. "We are all rooting for Ms. David," she said. "I have to go check on my other patients, but if you have any questions, you can have one of the nurses page me." He nodded, and she turned and left him to his thoughts.

"Wait, Doc," he called after her. She turned to face him. "Did you set aside her personal effects?"

"Allow me to go check. Am I looking for something in particular?"

"A Star of David pendant. It was around her neck when she came in." She nodded, and quickly made her way out of the ward. A few minutes later, she returned, a small plastic bag in her hand. She passed it to him. He looked down at it, and a degree of comfort filled him when he saw the familiar gold pendant and chain.

About twenty minutes later, a nurse came by and told them that all but one visitor had to leave. They all turned to him, and then wordlessly left the room. Abby gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed him, and Ducky gave his shoulder a squeeze. He waited until they were down the hall before slipping silently into the room.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding when his eyes rested on Ziva. She looked better than how she had the last time; her skin wasn't flushed and was no longer damp with sweat. But she was still pale, and she was still motionless, comatose. He stood for a few moments, simply looking at her. Then he pulled a chair from the corner and settled it next to the bed, carefully avoiding the tubes and wires draped across the floor.

He perched on the edge of the chair, leaning as close as he could towards the bed. He gingerly grasped her hand, clasping it in both of his. His thumbs immediately began tracing circles on the back of her hand. He gazed at her lax face, trying to ignore the tube in her throat. He wondered if she had felt this way, after he was in the explosion that took his memory.

"Hey, Ziver," he said softly. "I'm here. The rest of the team is too. We're all really worried about you. Especially Abby. You shouldn't scare her like that, you know. I don't think we need to worry about how to tell them about us. If they haven't figured it out by now, then they are lousy investigators." He paused. He wasn't sure what to say, but he had to keep talking, to let her know that he was there. They said that people in comas can hear voices. But did that apply to comas that were medically induced? "I know you probably hate this. You'd rather just barrel through the pain than be incapacitated like this."

He chuckled. "Hell, you already showed us that you _could_ barrel through the pain. Hell, Ziver, your bone splintered because you kept walking on it. And I saw you do it, and it was like you didn't even feel it." Gibbs paused, recalling the scenes he had witnessed. "I am so sorry I didn't help you sooner, Ziva. But I promise you: I will always be here for you. I will wait as long as it takes. So you can take your time waking up if you need to. Just make sure that you heal the best you can. That's what's important. I'll be here when you're ready."

He pressed his lips to her hand reverently. He settled back in his chair, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. With it, he expelled the tension that had been in his shoulders for the past five days. He was at ease; he was where he was supposed to be. And he was ready to stay with her, for as long as it took.

* * *

Gibbs spent the following days with Ziva at the hospital. The others came and went, making trips back and forth to DC so that people could work, sleep, and clean up. Dinozzo had assumed the responsibility of stopping by Gibbs' house and bringing him clean clothes. Gibbs had resumed his habit of drinking inordinate amounts of coffee. But he never left the hospital; the hospital staff allowed him to use the personnel showers, and he ate food that his team brought to the hospital.

He would stay in Ziva's room, leaving only to stretch his legs when the doctors came in to change her dressings. Slowly, the world outside the hospital faded and the only thing on his mind was Ziva. As the days passed, the doctors became more optimistic. Ziva had remained stable after her close scare, and slowly the bandages had come off.

After a week in the hospital, they had deemed her lungs strong to work on their own, so they had weaned her off the ventilator. Gibbs had been elated; though she was still comatose, it was easier to imagine that she was simply sleeping without the tube down her throat. At the same time, Gibbs almost missed the steady rhythm of the breath-generator; now the rise and fall of her chest was slower and less pronounced, making his heart skip when he glanced over and thought she had ceased breathing.

Her cuts and incisions had healed almost completely by the end of the third week, leaving fresh pink scars in their wake. But Doctor Johnson had made him aware that she still had a lot of internal damage, and that when she woke up, Ziva would be in a great deal of pain. After the first week, they had weaned her off the medications keeping her sedated, giving her a chance to wake up; they wanted to avoid exacerbating any potential brain damage. Ziva's CAT scan had come back normal, but they didn't want to take any chances.

But Ziva had remained unconscious. The first week of her remaining unresponsive hadn't worried Dr. Johnson, but as the days dragged on, she and her colleagues became increasingly concerned. Gibbs had taken a page from Abby's book and refused to succumb to negative thoughts. He remained calm, and above all, patient.

By the end of the fourth week, the doctors doubted whether or not she would ever wake up. They had taken her off all of her medication, hoping that the pain would force her to wake up sooner. Gibbs wasn't surprised that it proved fruitless—after all, she had walked around on a three-day old femur break without batting an eye. But their concern had grown, and slowly even Abby and the rest of the team had begun to lose hope. They all visited her frequently, but her lack of progress had proved to be trying for all of them.

Director Vance had attempted to get Gibbs back in the office, but had quickly decided to allow him to use the vacation time he had saved up. Other agents within the office had donated some of their vacation time as well, to give him as much time as he needed to stay with Ziva. Dinozzo had become the acting team leader in his absence, while McGee and Abby had resumed their usual responsibilities. At first they had all been reluctant to return to work, but as the weeks passed they found it a welcome reprieve.

At the end of the fifth week, Gibbs was in his usual chair at Ziva's bedside, reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hand. He had become familiar with the nurses and doctors in the ward, both recovery and the Intensive Care Unit they had moved her to after the first few days. They had found his stoic and matter-of-fact demeanor refreshing, and they had learned about his penchant for coffee, so each day a different member of the staff would bring him a large cup of the liquid caffeine. This morning, it was Julia, a particularly friendly nurse.

"Good morning, Gibbs," she said brightly, handing him the cup of coffee. "How is she doing this morning?"

"Thanks," he said, accepting the coffee. "No change."

"Well, no worries. She'll wake up when she's ready." Julia was one of the few nurses who shared his mentality about Ziva's condition. "She's been such a good patient," she continued. "It'll be a shame to discharge her." Gibbs smirked.

"Don't get used to it," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "When she wakes up she's going to be… difficult." He paused. "Is anybody on staff proficient in self-defense, or martial arts?" Julia looked at him strangely.

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"She has trigger-happy defensive reflexes. Don't try to work on her while she's sleeping, announce your presence when entering the room, and do not administer any drugs without her permission. She'll react badly, and painfully, to all of those situations."

"You know, Agent Gibbs, Ziva is not our first federal agent here. We know how to handle federal agents," she said, jotting down Ziva's vital stats.

"She's not just a federal agent," Gibbs replied. "She—" Gibbs paused, realizing that he didn't know if she was still Mossad. After what her father did, he expected not. "She has more effective training than we do."

"I see. Well, I'll make sure to tell the others that." Gibbs nodded, and Julia left to check on her other patients. He looked over at Ziva.

"You're gonna give him hell, Ziver. They're gonna wish you'd stayed comatose by the time they finally discharge you." He chuckled to himself, envisioning her displeasure at being woken up periodically throughout the night, and having nurses and doctors fussing over her around the clock. She hated being fussed over. After a moment, he returned his attention to his newspaper, ready to spend the day just like he had every day for the past five weeks.

The golden glow of afternoon had filled room with warm light when something caught his attention. He wasn't sure what it was at first, but when he froze and shot his eyes to her bed, he saw her hand twitch. He thought he had imagined it initially, but then he saw her move again, and his heart leapt. He leaned forward in his chair. One hand went to hers, and the other reached out to stroke her hair.

"Ziva?" There was no response, but he saw her eyes flicker behind her lids. "Ziva, can you hear me?" Silence followed, but over the next few minutes, she slowly began to wake up. Every so often her brow would furrow, or her fingers would move slightly in his. Adrenaline started pumping as his anticipation grew, anxious to see her awake and responsive.

What seemed like an eternity later, her eyes blearily opened. They remained unfocused for a few moments as she tiredly blinked, but then she saw and focused on him. Brown eyes met blue for the first time in over a month, and he gave her a soft smile.

"Hey," he said. She blinked slowly, leaving her eyes closed for several moments. He thought that she had fallen back to sleep, but then she opened them again. She focused on him once more, and after a few blank moments, the corner of her mouth twisted up in a hazy smile. Her fingers tightened around his, and though her grip wasn't as strong as he would have liked, he was ecstatic. He saw her lips part and start to move, but no sound passed her lips.

"Don't try to speak," he said reassuringly. "Your throat isn't ready for it." Confusion filled her eyes, and then slight alarm as her eyes left his and gazed around the room. "You're in a hospital, Ziva. Do you remember what happened?" He watched as she closed her eyes again. When she didn't open them for several moments, he became slightly alarmed. He pressed the call button to get one of the nurses' attention. "Ziva? Come on, baby, stay awake a few more minutes for me, ok?" Her eyes reopened, but this time he saw pain in them, and he kicked himself for not anticipating it; they had taken her off all the pain meds she needed, and now she was feeling the full effect of her injuries.

Luckily, the nurse and Dr. Johnson both entered the room with moments. Ziva didn't react to their entrance, instead focusing entirely on him. He heard Julia gasp slightly in surprise at seeing Ziva's eyes open. "She needs meds," he said calmly, not taking his eyes from Ziva. She looked exhausted, still a little pale with dark circles under her eyes, but she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He reached up to caress her cheek.

"Agent Gibbs, I want you to help her drink some water. There is a pitcher and cup on the table against the wall. Julia, could you go and get an IV bag of morphine, please? I need to do some quick tests on Ms. David before she falls asleep." Indeed, as he watched, Ziva's eyes had drifted shut again after she had managed to sip some water. "Ms. David?" she asked, to no response.

"Ziva, sweetheart," Gibbs said, squeezing her hand. "Ziva," he said a bit louder. Her eyes opened. "The doctor needs to ask you some questions before you go back to sleep." She looked at him blankly, and he pointed in the doctor's director. She turned her head until she could see Dr. Johnson.

"Ms. David," the doctor said, "my name is Doctor Johnson." She held up three fingers. "Could you tell me how many fingers I am holding up?" When Ziva didn't answer, she repeated the question. Ziva looked at her in sluggish puzzlement, and then looked back at Gibbs.

"Ziva, how many fingers is she holding up?" he asked. To his surprise, the confusion didn't fade from her eyes. "Ziva, can you understand us?" No answer. Alarm filled him for a long moment before an idea struck him. "Parlez-vous français?" Silence met his question, but he didn't give up. "Hablas español?" He grinned as comprehension crossed her features.

"Si," she said, her voice raspy and grating from weeks of non-use and the ventilator. "Si, yo hablo."

"Bien," he said warmly. "¿Cuántos dedos?" he asked.

"Tres," she responded. Gibbs shot a beaming smile towards Dr. Johnson. They repeated the process for the rest of the doctor's questions. When Julia returned with the prescribed IV meds, it was immediately hooked up to her pre-existing IV line. Ziva was asleep within moments. Gibbs looked down at her.

He had thought it would bother him if she fell asleep so soon after waking up from a month-long coma, but with the distinct differences between Ziva's sleeping form and her comatose one, he found that it didn't. She was peaceful, almost angelic as she lay there, her fingers still interlaced with his. It was as if her spirit had once again decided to habituate her body, and the shell that had been there during her coma had been filled with her usual intensity, even in sleep.

Seeing the change put him entirely at ease. He knew that there was a long way to go before she was back to 100%, but she was with him, and together they would get through everything else. Dr. Johnson mistook his silence as worry for her lapse in language skills.

"Patients are often very disoriented when they come out of a coma, Agent Gibbs. Unless it becomes a frequent problem in the next few days, it doesn't worry us."

"I'm not worried," he said, looking up at her. "You try keeping upwards of six languages straight in your head, and then come out of a month-long coma. I'm sure you'll have the same problem. Besides, English isn't her strangest language in the first place."

"Six languages?" Johnson asked incredulously. "Wow. That's impressive." She gazed thoughtfully at her patient. "I'm starting to think we were foolish to predict that her injuries would prove too much for her. It seems every day we learn something else about her that makes her near super-human."

"You have no idea. We are still learning things about her, even after her being with us for years." He paused. "But she's not superhuman. Not even close. She's tough, but she still hurts, still bleeds, and that's what makes her so..." he found he couldn't find a word to adequately describe her. "She almost died," he continued. "We almost lost her." The doctor looked surprised.

"But you were always steadfast in your belief that she would pull through. You had the most faith in her, and now you say that she is just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Most everyone else wouldn't have even made it to the hospital."

Gibbs remained silent. He knew exactly what it was that gave him strength through Ziva's ordeal, but it didn't seem appropriate to tell Doctor Johnson. No, what happened between them in the warehouse was for them, and them only. No one else needed to know. After a few moments of his silence, the doctor accepted his non-answer, and let the matter drop.

"The next few weeks are going to be difficult Agent Gibbs," she said. "Possibly more difficult than this past month has been. Her cuts and bruises have healed, but her internal damage are still causing her a great deal of pain. Sometimes it is difficult for people to see their loved ones in pain. There will be good days and there will be bad days. I don't think I need to tell you this, but it will be beneficial for her to continue to have one person she sees often. It will decrease the shock of the situation if she has someone familiar to focus on.

"That being said, however, it is important for her to maintain as much control as she can. Which means her wishes of being left alone must be respected, if she so chooses. Now that Ms. David is awake, we follow her lead. So if she asks that you leave, and you do not do so voluntarily, security will assist you." Gibbs nodded in acknowledgement.

"I wouldn't ask for anything else," he said. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, and alarm filled him. "There is a possibility of additional security being necessary. Dr. Burton may have told you about how she was tortured." She nodded. "Well, we don't know if they are going to try to get to her again. Now that she is awake and definitely on the mend, she could be a target again. Is there a way to limit who gets in to visit her?"

"Not on our end," she responded. "Not in this ward, with any amount of practicality. You would have better luck assigning one of your agents on security detail. He or she can remain outside the door to her room and make visual ID."

"Thank you Doctor." Gibbs suddenly realized he had forgotten one critical task. "I need to make a phone call," he said. Doctor Johnson nodded and left to give him some privacy. Gibbs reached over to the nearby table and lifted the phone out of its cradle. He punched in the familiar number and listened to it ring. Once the person on the other end had answered, he somehow managed to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"Abby," he said, "she woke up."

* * *

His team came as soon as they could, but even then it was well into the night when they finally arrived at the hospital, all eager and clamoring in the waiting room to see Ziva. Gibbs had come out to meet them, and then escorted them back to her room. They looked in through the glass wall separating the room from the hall, not wanting to risk panicking Ziva should she wake up earlier than expected.

"She looks so much better Gibbs!"Abby exclaimed. "When can we visit her for real?"

"When _she_ says it's okay, Abs." Gibbs looked at the forensic scientist. "From now on, things are going to happen on her terms. Otherwise, we all run the risk of sustaining physical harm."

"You really think she can inflict pain at this point, boss?" Dinozzo asked. Gibbs arched his eyebrows at him.

"What do you think, Dinozzo?"

"Right, boss, stupid question." They turned back to the window, looking at the Israeli as she slumbered peacefully. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and amiable conversation started; the words were light-hearted, almost giddy. When thirty minutes had passed, Dr. Johnson stopped by to tell them that Ziva should be waking up at any moment.

"Guys, why don't you go sit in the waiting room for a bit?" Gibbs said. "I'll let you know if she's up for visitors." They all agreed, luckily, and left the ward. Gibbs slipped inside Ziva's room, sitting in his chair. He took up his usual position, clasping her right hand. About another fifteen minutes passed before he saw her lids open. Brown eyes focused on him with only a vague haziness; a result of the drugs, not brain damage. He could see her familiar spark underneath the veil of drugs.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said with a smile.

"Hi," she said in a whisper. Gibbs got the cup of water she had sipped from last time she was awake, and gently put the straw to her lips. She sipped the water feebly, her reflexes still sluggish, including her control on swallowing it seemed, as she began to cough halfway through her fourth sip. Her face creased in pain.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am fine," she croaked. He smiled at her familiar answer.

"Good to hear you still speak English." Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Last time you woke up, you spoke Spanish. You blanked on English and French."

"I do not remember…"

"That's okay," he reassured her. "We didn't expect you to."

"We?"

"Me, and Doctor Johnson."

"Doctor?" He grinned, realizing he should have anticipated her not remembering anything of her earlier arousal.

"You're in the hospital."

"Why?" Her question concerned him slightly. It appeared she was still a little out of it.

"You were shot, Ziver—among other things."

"Oh." He grinned. Yep, she was out of it. And he figured he was going to have to explain it to her the next time she woke up.

"How do you feel?" He watched as she thought about the question, and then searched for the answer.

"Hairy," she said finally. He grinned.

"You mean fuzzy?"

"Yes, that one." Her voice was thick, and he knew that she was fading, judging by the way her lids kept falling shut.

"Hey, sweetheart." Her eyes opened again. "The others are here, and they want to see you. You up to having them visit?" She murmured softly, but he wasn't sure if it was meant to be a yes or a no. Her head turned toward him as she relaxed against the pillow. With a smile, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes opened at his touch. "Hey," he said, his tone soft. "You made it." Her eyes crinkled as she let him glimpse a smile. To him, it was the most beautiful sight in the world.

"Of course I did," she said drowsily. "I promised."


	9. Returned

Ziva was unable to keep her eyes open long, and was soon fast asleep again as the drugs took hold. Gibbs watched her for a few more minutes before leaving the room and going out to meet the others. When he entered the waiting room, the team crowded around him, clamoring for news. After a few moments, he held up his hand for silence, which they gladly gave him.

"She woke up," he said, "but not for long. She's already fallen asleep again. She seems to be relatively fine, considering her condition and the effects of the medication. And yes, she can still speak English."

"Can we see her?" Abby asked.

"I asked her, but her response was… noncommittal. I don't think she really registered what I was saying. She was really out of it. I don't think it's a good idea for you all to visit until she is more aware." Abby looked disappointed, but she nodded in understanding.

"We'll wait," she said firmly. She glared at him. "Now get back in there mister. Let us know when she wakes up again." Gibbs smiled, and quickly obeyed.

The next time Ziva woke, her eyes were still slightly unfocused, so he knew the meds in her IV were still working. But she looked towards him, and recognition crossed her features as she smiled. He returned it with one of his own.

"Morning, sunshine," he said. He watched her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings. "You're in the hospital." She nodded.

"I see," she said softly, her voice still weak from disuse. Her eyes returned to his. "This is strange." He arched an eyebrow.

"Waking up in a hospital?"he asked. She shook her head.

"No, I have done that many times," she replied. She blinked heavily before continuing. "This is the first time someone has been waiting for me." He felt a jolt of anger at her words—yet another he wanted to see Eli David hang. So far Gibbs had managed to keep his thirst for vengeance at bay, being too preoccupied with Ziva's condition to think about anything else.

But her father had not even sat at his daughter's bedside. In his mind, he saw Ziva waking up to an empty hospital room after the bombing in Morocco, disoriented and confused—alone. Gibbs couldn't imagine doing that to Kelly. But then again, what could he expect from the man who had, for all intents and purposes, murdered his own daughter?

"Well, you better get used to it," he said, stroking her hair. "Because I'm not going anywhere." Her lazy smile grew at that, and Gibbs was struck by how beautiful it was. "How are you feeling?" Her expression shifted, and he knew what was coming, so he continued before she could answer. "And don't tell me you're fine, I won't buy it. Please don't hide it from me." Her gaze flicked away from him guiltily. When she looked back at him, her eyes were guarded, even when clouded by drugs. Her words, however, surprised him.

"There is pain," she said softly. "But it is nothing I cannot handle," she continued quickly. Her eyes dared him to doubt her, but he knew it was the most he could ask for, and let it go.

"You up for visitors? The team is here, and they're anxious to see you. They've been worried." Her brow furrowed in uncertainty. Gibbs immediately recognized it; he had even expected it. Having him see her so incapacitated was one thing; the rest of the team seeing her this way may be too much for her to handle. "You don't have to," he said. "They'll understand if you don't want them to come back."

"I do not see why they would need to see me," she said, her tone somewhat dark. "I just saw them a few…" Her voice drifted off as she realized she didn't know how much time had passed. Gibbs was about to tell her how long she had been unconscious when she continued. "At the crime scene. I am not sure how long I was…" And then Gibbs realized that she was referring to the fact that her sense of time had been distorted during her interrogation. He had almost forgotten about that, in the wake of what happened with her father.

"Ziva, how much do you remember?" She hesitated before answering, searching her memory.

"The crime scene… the building collapsed," she said. Her eyes shot to him in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I was only pinned—no injuries." He returned to the topic at hand. "Do you remember what happened after the building collapsed, Ziva?" Her eyes darkened, and he saw something disconnect. She nodded, but Gibbs knew he needed to do something before she put up all the walls he had spent the past year getting past. "You don't have to tell me anything," he said quickly. "You were in a coma, Ziva." Brown eyes looked at him.

"How long?"

"This is your sixth week in the hospital." He watched as she processed the information. Her features remained neutral, not conveying anything that was going through her mind. He was concerned by how closed off she had become, but he knew that he couldn't call her out on it now.

"Jethro," she said, her tone guarded. He looked at her expectantly. She hesitated, but he remained patient. Finally she said, "I do not like this position." It took him a minute to realize what she was referring to, and gently put a hand on her shoulder to halt her struggles to sit up.

"Let me go get a couple nurses to help." He stood, but her tight grip on his hand kept him from going far.

"Never mind. This is fine." He looked at her guarded features, groggy though they were. Concern filled him; he wasn't expecting this. He had expected her to be reluctant to receive help, but her degree of detachment worried him. But then he realized he had no reason to expect anything. He had never seen Ziva damaged like this. He would have to do what he could as he came up on each roadblock she erected. She needed him to do at least that much for her.

"Ziva," he said softly, "if you want to sit up, the nurses will have to help you the first couple of times. I am not going to risk hurting you more by moving you myself just because of your pride." She looked away, but he continued anyway. "And don't start hiding your discomfort from me just to avoid the medical personnel either. I've had enough scares as it is." He gave her a pointed look. "Now can I go get the nurses?" She met his gaze.

"I hate nurses," she mumbled. Her tone was bitter, but her words made him smile.

"Well, they adore you, so play nice." She rolled her eyes, which made him chuckle, some of his worry dissipating. Perhaps she wasn't as removed as he had thought. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "That's my girl."

He had Julia and another nurse in the room within minutes. To Gibbs' delight, Ziva was still awake and unimpressed when they returned.

"Oh, Ms. David," Julia gushed, "it is such an honor to finally meet you. It's good to see you awake." Ziva opened her mouth as if to speak, but when she thought better of it and closed her lips, Gibbs knew she had just barely managed to bite back a scathing comment or two. He smirked; even drugged, she was still her usual prickly self. "Well," Julia continued, "Agent Gibbs says you'd like to sit up, so let's get going on that."

Without further ado, the two nurses gently moved her a little lower on the bed. Gibbs saw Ziva's jaw clench from the pain, and figured that she was also struggling with the urge to lash out at the chattering nurses. But then it was over, and they were able to elevate the bed mechanically by pressing a button on the bed. Ziva closed her eyes as the motion of the bed compressed her damaged ribs, but still she remained silent.

Julia asked if there was anything else, but Ziva simply looked at her sharply. The nurse glanced at Gibbs, who shrugged at her as if to 'I told you so'. Julia nodded in acceptance and left, the second nurse close on her heels. As soon as they were gone, Gibbs sat next to Ziva on the bed, grasping her hand gently. Her brow was still creased in pain.

"You okay?" he asked. When she nodded, he opened his mouth to warn her about lying to him, but she beat him to the punch.

"It is passing, Gibbs," she said shortly. Then her voice softened. "And it is better than how I was before. Please, trust me." After a moment, he nodded.

"Okay."

Over the next few days, Ziva improved steadily, though slowly. The team was finally able to visit her, and though he knew it bothered Ziva for her colleagues to see her so incapacitated, she endured it for the sake of their concern. The drugs she was on made her sluggish and tired, and made her sleep most of the day, and irritated when she managed to stay awake.

Gibbs didn't leave the hospital at all during those days, and continued to follow the routine he had developed in the past six weeks. Five days after she had woken from her coma, however, Ziva stayed awake long enough to notice he hadn't gone home. Upon discovering he had not been to his house since their abduction, she immediately instructed him to go home, shower, eat, and sleep in an actual bed.

He had resisted, but when she did not back down, the doctor's warning about respecting Ziva's wishes echoed in his ears. And so he had acquiesced, and spent his first night away from the hospital. To his surprise he fell asleep immediately after he had collapsed on his bed after his hot shower. He felt rested and refreshed after a surprising eight hours of sleep. When he finally returned to the hospital, he felt better than he had in weeks.

Reaching Ziva's room, he found she had repositioned herself so that she was slightly turned onto her side, facing away from the door. She had lowered the incline of the bed so that her torso wasn't twisted at all. Looking at her from the doorway, he knew something was wrong. She was tense and unmoving, her breathing shallow, telling him that she wasn't sleeping.

He stepped into the room, and she must have heard him, for she spoke.

"No." Her voice stopped him in his tracks. She didn't move to look at him, and alarm filled him.

"Ziva—"

"No, Jethro," she said. Her voice was strained. "I do not want you here. Go home." The hard quality of her voice caused his alarm to shift into panic. Wild ideas of what could have happened to cause this mood shift in her raced through his mind. He quickly searched for words.

"Ziva, I—"

"No," she said again. "Please, just leave." Her voice quivered as she spoke, and suddenly Gibbs realized what was happening. He crossed the room to come around the other side of the bed. He stopped in front of Ziva, and she turned her head into the pillow in an attempt to hide her face from him.

Her arms were draped over her midsection, clasping a pillow to her ribs. Her fingers curled into the edges of the pillow tightly, digging into the foam padding. Her face was strained, and when her eyes opened as she sensed his hand reaching forward to touch her cheek, he saw that they were filled with agony.

His suspicions seemed to be correct. Doctor Johnson had warned him about "bad days", and now it seemed that today was one of them. His heart twisted at seeing the amount of pain she was in. And knowing that Ziva would do everything in her power to ensure that no one ever saw her pain told him that what she was feeling now must be… excruciating.

"Please," she whispered. "I do not want you to see me like this." Her confession brought tears to his eyes. He looked at her a moment more before leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. She pulled away, not wanting his pity, or contact. He pulled back, slightly hurt, but he knew and understood her need to distance herself from him.

"Please go away," she whispered again. Gibbs looked at her, seeing how she refused to meet his gaze. Then he stood and crossed back to the door. Once there, he paused. Should he respect her wishes to be left alone? Or should he obey his need to give her as much comfort as he could? The decision was not a difficult one. It was his inability to help her that had put her in this position in the first place.

He returned to the bed, this time climbing up onto it behind her. He spooned against her back, his right arm snaking between her right shoulder and her neck. His hand trailed down her arm until it found her hand, leaving his shoulder to act as a pillow for her head. His free arm gingerly reached over her torso, and helped to hold the pillow closer to her body.

He could feel her trembling against him, straining to keep the pain at bay. His hand grasped hers reassuringly. Her fingers remained limp in his, and he was afraid that she would remove them from his grip. But then in the next moment her fingers constricted around his, clutching desperately as the pain wracked through her.

She turned her face into his shoulder, and he could feel tears dampen his sleeve. He held her as firmly as he could without adding to her pain, and he buried his face in her hair. Little by little, he felt her relax against him. Periodically she would tense again as another wave of pain hit, and then little by little she would relax again. They didn't speak, and no one bothered them. They remained that way the rest of the day and into the night. Ziva managed to doze off once or twice, for which he was grateful, as every waking moment seemed to be agony for her.

The next morning dawned to find Ziva feeling better, if exhausted, and she slept through most it. Doctor Johnson warned Gibbs to expect more days to be that bad in the future as she healed, and the prospect made his gut twist with worry. He stayed at Ziva's side until she woke up. When she did, she looked at him with a distant doe-eyed quality, and he knew that she was trying to make sense of what he did and how she felt about it.

"I wasn't going to let you ride out the pain on your own," Gibbs said, helping her along. "I love you, Ziva, and I meant it when I said I was going to help you through this. Don't ever ask me to leave you alone in that condition again, because I don't really like going against your wishes, but I will." She looked at him, and he half-expected her to go off on him for being presumptuous and self-imposing. But her words surprised him.

"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes not leaving his. He returned her gaze.

"You're surprised that I care," he said. It wasn't phrased as a question, but she didn't refute it either, alerting him to the accuracy of his statement. "I'm not going anywhere, Ziva. You're not a burden, and you're not weak for showing pain. I want to be here for you, especially in situations like last night."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Ziva—" he started warningly, but she cut him off.

"Not about yesterday. I should not have been surprised that you care." Her voice was soft, vulnerable. "You have done nothing but love me, and be here for me, and be unbelievably understanding about everything that has happened between us. I have no reason to doubt that." Her words drifted off, and Gibbs could see the guilt as she tried to explain herself. "It is just—"

"Hey," he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "You don't have to explain. You didn't ask for this: to be experiencing having a loved one care for you in the hospital for the first time. I understand how difficult this is for you." He looked at her, and was surprised to see tears sliding down her nose. He reached over and brushed them away.

"I should be healing faster." Her words sent him into mild shock.

"Ziva—"

"I hate feeling like this." Her confession caused him to fall silent. He could hear her sniff softly. He sat there for a few moments, debating what to do next. Quickly coming to a decision, he left his perch on the bed and crouched next to it instead. His arms folded at right angles to his body, and his forearms supported his chin as he looked directly into her eyes. His position forced her to keep her entire attention on him.

At this proximity, he could not help but notice the effects her injuries had had on her. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, a result of losing what little body fat she had. Her skin was pale from not having been in direct sunlight for so many weeks. And her eyes… Her eyes had not yet regained their familiar spark, something he partially attributed to the drugs that left her perpetually groggy.

"I know," he said softly, "that you don't like depending on others. But I'm here, Ziva, and that means that you don't have to rely just on yourself. I will protect you, comfort you, or anything else that you need. All you need to do, the only thing I cannot do for you, is to heal."

She nodded in acceptance, or at least acknowledgement. He looked into her eye a moment longer, and then leaned toward her to kiss her lips. He was only a fraction of an inch away when she suddenly reeled away with a gasp. He saw panic cross her features and she tried to scramble away, but could only manage a jerk of her torso before the pain hit her.

She cried out and curled into a loose ball, pulling her arms gently against her ribs. Her heart monitor spiked with an angry beep. Gibbs pulled back immediately, giving her space for a moment before his concern overcame his good sense.

"Ziva," he said softly. He reached out tentatively, but her hand flashed out and caught his wrist, halting his movement. He froze, knowing better than to force anything. "Ziva."

"I am okay," she said breathlessly as one of the nurses rushed in.

"Ms. David—"

"Get her out of here," Ziva told Gibbs. "Before I shoot her." Knowing that Ziva's patience was spent, and that even though she did not have access to a gun, she was more than capable of inflicting serious harm, Gibbs quickly waved the nurse away. She balked initially, but with a few short words from the Marine, she finally left after shooting him one last glare.

He returned his focus to Ziva, whose breathing was slowing again as the pain faded. Her grip on his wrist slackened, and he again tried to reach toward her. She didn't resist, and he brushed the hair out of her face. She sighed as her muscles relaxed slightly.

"Ziva, are you okay?"

"Yes," she said. Her voice was stronger. "I will be. Just temporary…"

"What the hell was that?"

"Was what?

"Ziva!" His tone was clearly upset, and her eyes flashed to his in response. He forced himself to calm down. "You were _afraid_ of me, Ziva. Do not shut me out." She dropped her gaze.

"It was nothing. It was…" She couldn't find the words. He shifted, and the movement caught her attention, causing her to look at him once more. He arched his eyebrow in expectant impatience. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again she began to speak.

"It was like what happened with Andy Hoffman." Her words confused him, but he let her continue. "You leaned in, and I knew it was you, but…" She paused for a moment. "All I could see was Michael." The name hit him like ton of bricks, and it must have showed, for she quickly continued. "I know you did not mean for it to happen, and I do not know why I reacted like I did, because I knew it was you, and that it could not have been Michael—" His hand on her shoulder silenced her.

"It's not your fault Ziva." And it was true. He had no idea what happened between her and Rivkin before he had reestablished visual on the two of them in the final warehouse. But her reaction to his attempted kiss told him that it had been less than professional. Fury built in his gut, and he was of the impression that two blown kneecaps were not nearly enough pain for the scumbag.

"Jethro." Her voice faltered, and he bent down closer to her, running a hand through her hair. She swallowed and looked away. "I do not want to be afraid of you."

The frailty of her voice made his heart twist painfully. "Listen to me, sweetheart. This is all happening very quickly. I think that everything that happened is starting to catch up with you. Having flashbacks is common after a traumatic experience. A lot happened to you, and in your mind, it happened less than a week ago. This is normal Ziver, and it will pass."

She didn't respond, and he gazed at her. He wondered what was going through her mind, wishing he could just get a glimpse at her thoughts. But then he realized it probably wouldn't help, even if he could share her thoughts; she spoke five languages fluently, plus pieces of several more. There was no guarantee that her thoughts were even English. As he watched, he saw her hand work its way up to the hollow of her throat, as if searching for something. When she met nothing but skin all the way up, her fingers froze for a split second and then traveled around her neck, their movements more frantic than before.

Ziva tensed when she didn't find what she was looking for. She looked at the bedside table, as if it were there. Gibbs watched in confusion for a few moments before he realized what she was looking for. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her Star of David, which he had claimed the first day she had been admitted to the hospital.

He offered it to her silently. She looked at him, frozen for a moment before her relief became palpable. She reached out and took it between her fingers. She traced the delicate lines with her fingertips. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

"I thought—" She didn't finish her thought.

"They removed it in the ER, I remembered to ask for it. I should have given to you earlier, but I forgot."

"No, it is fine. I was just worried. I should have thought about it earlier." She looked at the pendant in her hand. "It has always been a source of comfort for me."

"I've noticed that," he responded. She looked up at him once more, this time a small smile on her lips. "I can help you put it on." She glanced at the star, and then gathered it in her palm. She reached out and grabbed his hand, turning it over to place the necklace within it. He looked at her quizzically.

"In case something happens," she explained. "I would feel better knowing it is somewhere safe." She paused. "You will protect it, won't you?" His free hand found hers.

"Of course I will," he said. He gave her a pointed look "especially when it's around your neck again."


	10. Dark Possibilities

A few hours later, Ziva had fallen asleep yet again. He sat in the chair next to her bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He held the gold star between his fingers, gently caressing the gold pendant. He thought about everything that had happened that morning.

He had expected her to have flashbacks and nightmares after everything that had happened. He knew that eventually he would have to ask her what happened after they were separated at the second warehouse. He didn't want to know exactly what had happened during her interrogation. She seemed to be handling it just fine, and he was able to pretend that the experience wasn't as harrowing as it could have been. He was not looking forward to discovering that it would have completely destroyed anyone else, but she had just been desensitized to it, courtesy of her experiences as a Mossad officer.

The thought made him pause. Her father obviously wanted her dead. Would he ever think to check to see if he had actually succeeded? And now that Ziva was on the mend, would he send someone to finish the job? The idea of it made the blood chill in his veins. She may be in the hospital, but getting to Ziva would be less than a challenge for even the most green of Metsada operatives. The only way he could be certain of her safety was to stay with her at all times, but he knew that Ziva would insist that he go home more often for a decent night's sleep. And every moment he was away from her was a chance for her father to finish what he started.

Gibbs spent the hours until Ziva woke again thinking about everything that happened, and everything that could still happen. At one point he grinned, realizing that Ziva had been right; her star was soothing. It calmed his nerves, and focusing on it kept him from pacing the room. And when Ziva awoke, he was able to push his concerns to the back of his mind and focus entirely on her.

His worry stayed with him for the following days, but he became more concerned with Ziva. Her mood was worsening. Her words became short, with him and the nurses as well. It was as if a dark cloud had settled over her, and while Gibbs had somewhat expected it, he hated the sullen silences it created. She would withdraw into her own thoughts, and he knew even less about what she was thinking than he did before. It drove him crazy but he knew that if he pushed, she would shut him out completely. When she finally asked him to spend the night at home, he actually found it a relief. He left without reluctance, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Gibbs spent that night in his basement, but he didn't work on his boat. Instead he sat underneath the stairs, just as he had after Jenny's death. Then it had seemed cozy, with Ziva curled up next to him, but now it was vacant, empty. Only his scotch kept him company, but the fire it traced down his throat did nothing to ease the pain in his heart.

He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how, and it scared him. Until now he hadn't been aware of just how little he knew about her. He had learned to predict some of her actions, and some of the reasons why she did them, but now he knew how he had simply skimmed the surface. And the more she drifted into herself, the more difficult it would be for him to find her again. But how was he supposed to keep her grounded? If he pushed, she would shut him out, and if he let her be, she would still drift away.

He continued to think about it throughout the night. Even after the sun rose, he didn't hurry to get ready to get back to the hospital. He wanted to be there, but the feeling of helplessness that came with it was never welcome. Even if he did know how to help her, she would first have to let him. And the one thing he was certain of was that she would resist any form of help, from anyone.

He returned to the hospital around nine in the morning. He took his time walking to her room, trying to think of what his plan of action would be. He nodded to the nurses on his way through the ward, and they greeted him in return. He turned into Ziva's room—and froze.

Her bed was empty. The sheets were askew, unmade. He eyes searched the room, his mind jumping into overdrive. The room was empty, with no sign of Ziva. Her IV hung limply from the pole, dripping fluid into a growing puddle on the floor. Panic tore through him; thoughts of Eli David coming back to finish the job filled his mind, quickly followed by memories of Ziva lying bloody in his arms, struggling to breathe. He sprang into acting, tearing out of the room.

"Hey!" he shouted to the nurses at their desk. They looked up at him. "Has anyone been in this room?" They looked confused, and looked at each other in question.

"I don't think so," one said, her tone uncertain.

"Shut down the hospital! Nobody leaves!" he ordered. Julia obeyed by picking up the phone and dialing the security number, sensing his urgency. One nurse, though, decided to ask questions.

"Agent Gibbs, what's the problem?"

"She's gone," he growled. "When was the last time you checked on her?" he asked, not wasting a moment.

"6 am."

"That was three hours ago! Did you see anyone go in or out?" He struggled to remain objective, but adrenaline was starting to kick in. The nurse glanced inside Ziva's room to see for herself that it was vacant.

"No, I haven't seen anyone." Her tone was now full of concern. Gibbs anticipated her answer, and immediately reacted.

"Search every room. Every closet, every bathroom, any place a person can hide. We need to find her, and we need to find her now." The nurses scrambled into action, calling security and the personnel from the other wards to come help. Gibbs pulled out his own phone as he raced through the ward, glancing through each room he passed. He pressed his speed dial, and soon Dinozzo picked up on the other end.

"Yeah boss!"

"David has vanished from her hospital room," Gibbs said, getting straight to the point. "Get McGee and get your asses here ASAP. Have Abby and Ducky on stand-by."

"Got it boss," Dinozzo responded, all business. "Be there in fifteen." Gibbs shut his phone and tucked it into his pocket. He finished checking the other patients' rooms, and then moved on the supply rooms. Nothing.

"You keep searching," he told the nurses. "Use the intercom and give status reports every ten minutes, understand? Everything gets routed through Julia."

"Understood, Agent Gibbs," Julia replied. "Security has the building locked down. No one will leave, and we have ambulances rerouted to the nearest hospital, but we can't stop walk-ins."

"That's great, Julia. Keep it up." And then he was gone, heading to the next ward. He looked in every room, and their adjoining bathrooms, but didn't find any sign of Ziva. He poked his head through every door he passed in the hall, but still—nothing.

He had almost finished his circuit of the floor when he roughly opened an unmarked door to his left. As soon as he did, though, he froze. His vision was filled with green foliage, and a burst of fresh air assaulted his senses. Looking around as he slowly entered, he saw that he had happened upon an open-air garden. There was a stone pathway that traced its way through the shrubs, and periodically a fountain gently released water to trickle down carefully piled rock structures. The effect was calming, and he was able to take his time walking along the path. The sun shone down on him, warming. He wondered briefly how he had managed to not know that this place existed in the seven weeks he had been at the hospital.

As he turned the bend, he saw a small form standing against a metal rail, looking out over a small koi pond. He heaved sigh of relief as he recognized the form as Ziva. He broke into a sprint towards her.

"Ziva!"

She turned to face him, but he gathered her into his arms in a firm embrace. He pressed his face into her hair, taking a deep breath. She had a hospital-issue robe over her gown, and it felt bulky under his touch, but he didn't care. He clung to her tightly, and he felt her small arms reach up to return his embrace, but her movements were hesitant, and he knew that he had taken her by surprise. He pulled away and bent down slightly, looking her directly in the eye.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, brushing her hair out of her face. She looked at him, wide-eyed. He saw confusion cross her face, then shift into something indiscernible.

"I could not stay in that room anymore," she said, shaking her head slightly. Her eyes conveyed exhaustion, and while her voice was soft, it was also strong and unfaltering.

"You didn't tell anyone, have anyone help you…" his voice was reprimanding, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise. When he next spoke, he forced his voice to soften. "I thought… Jesus."

"I did not realize…" Ziva said after a moment. He saw her expression turn apologetic. "I… I could not breathe. I did not think to alert the nurses, as I did not need their help." She paused. "I did not mean to worry you."

He sighed. After a moment, he straightened and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The skin-on-skin contact, through the kiss and through the hand he was grasping, reassured him and helped him get his nerves under control.

"You got out here on your own?" He gave a small half-smirk to show that he wasn't angry. "You shouldn't have done that, Ziver." Her gaze dropped, and she turned away from him, looking at the koi pond once more. He joined her at the rail, standing close enough for their shoulders to be touching.

"It hurts," she said, her voice soft, "a lot." He looked at her in concern, but she continued before he could say anything. "But I feel better now than I have since… since I woke up." A small smile curled her lips. "The air out here… and the sun…" Her tone was content, happy, and it made his spirits lift. Perhaps her recent depression was not as it had seemed. But he had been right about one thing: there was lot he still did not know about her.

"You ready to go back?" he asked after a few minutes. She looked at him in reluctance. "We put the hospital on lockdown." Her surprised look made him grin. "I wasn't taking any chances." He jerked his head toward the door that led back to the ward. "What do you say we give the nurses a rest, huh?"

She hesitated, but then nodded in concession. She pulled away from the rail slowly and turned to walk with him down the path. Her short movements told him that she was still in pain. He watched but didn't say anything, knowing she would be offended. She managed to take a few steps before her legs gave out. Gibbs was waiting, and immediately caught her, sweeping her up into his arms smoothly. Her arms instinctively looped around his neck, and she looked at him with a sharp gaze.

"You were waiting for that to happen," she said tiredly, finally resting her head against his chest. He grinned.

"Anything for the chance to sweep a beautiful woman off her feet," he responded. He felt her grin against him.

By the time he had returned with her to the ward, she was dozing lightly. She was woken up however, when the nurses caught a glimpse of him.

"Ms. David!"

"He found her!"

"Is she hurt?"

"Get a doctor!"

Gibbs slowed as the nurses crowded around in an attempt to check on their missing patient. Ziva turned her face into him, away from the flock of personnel.

"Make them go away," she mumbled. He nodded and pushed through the crowd, trying to put his body between them and Ziva. After a moment or two, they caught the hint and pulled back, allowing him to reach her room in peace.

He gently laid her on the bed and pulled the blankets up around her before stepping back and letting Julia swoop in to hook up her IV and take her vitals. Ziva began to doze again, which caused Julia to wake her, worried about any brain trauma. She began to ask the tired Israeli questions, but Ziva was less than cooperative.

"Go away," she mumbled. Julia grinned and stepped back, turning to Gibbs.

"I think she's okay," she said, amused. "Where did you find her?"

"Garden," he responded. A flash of surprise flitted across the nurse's face.

"How did--?"

"She walked."

"But… she shouldn't be strong enough to walk. She hasn't even had any physical therapy for her broken leg!" Gibbs froze; he had forgotten about her fractured leg. "And even if she had the strength to limp out of here, someone would have seen her!" Gibbs shrugged.

"Once she gets an idea in her head, she'd gonna do it. I've learned not to question how she does things; she just does it. Plus, she's been so out of it from the drugs, I bet she didn't even realize what she was doing." Julia shook her head.

"Unbelievable." She looked at the sleeping woman. "I've never seen anyone like her before, Agent Gibbs. Most people wouldn't even be coherent at this point."

"Well, she is unconscious now, Julia." He grinned at the nurse, who smiled back.

"That's true. I don't blame her; she must be exhausted." She paused. "If she wants, we can arrange it so that she can go outside whenever she likes. We want to make her comfortable, Agent Gibbs. She just has to communicate with us."

"I know that, Julia," he responded. "But that's not going to happen. It's not in her nature. She's self-reliant to a fault. We can only learn as we go… She'll only let us know what she wants after she tries to do it for herself."

"Well, you were right last week," she said. "She's definitely keeping us on our toes. And she is definitely a difficult patient, but none of us actually begrudge her for it. Usually 'difficult patient' means hypochondriac. Let me tell you, we'd take her over one of them any day." She paused. "And you know, it's patients like her who make this job worth doing, and keeps it interesting." She shot him one more smile, and then left the room to go spread the word that Ziva had been found.

Gibbs moved to take a seat in the chair next to the bed, but a soft voice from the bed stopped him.

"Jethro…" He looked at Ziva and found her eyes blinked drowsily. She had turned onto her side, and was looking at him with unfocused eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her, and in response, she scooted to the other side of her bed and patted the space she vacated. He grinned, and accepted her silent invitation by climbing up onto the bed next to her.

She wormed closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. He draped an arm of his own over her shoulders. Almost instantly, her breathing evened out, and he knew that she was asleep. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dinozzo and McGee appear at the door. He looked at them, and found them both grinning like fools.

He shot them a death glare and waved them away. McGee was appropriately chastised, but Dinozzo's grin merely grew and he raised his hands in a mock surrender. He backed away slowly before turning to shift his attentions to one of the nurses. Gibbs rolled his eyes before relaxing back against the bed. His sleepless night of sitting in his basement was catching up with him as he felt his lids get heavier, and more difficult to keep open. Ziva's warm form next to him only relaxed him even more.

The next time Tony looked in on them, both his boss and partner fast asleep.


	11. Refusals

The next couple days passed without incidence, and Gibbs made certain that Ziva made it out to the garden every day. Her mood seemed to improve slightly, from sullen to withdrawn. The change was subtle, but Gibbs was able to tell the difference. Ziva was not herself, and while she no longer seemed angry, it was obvious to the Marine that something still bothered her.

Gibbs tried to ask her about it, but she avoided his query as skillfully as she could, given that whenever she spoke, her answers seemed sluggish, and her usually quick responses had to be laboriously thought over before any motion reached her lips. To him, it made her first venture to the garden all the more impressive.

Things at the hospital remained uneventful for a few more days, until the next time Gibbs spent the night at his house. When he returned the next morning to yet another commotion in Ziva's room, the only emotion he felt was one of mild amusement, rather than apprehension. Even from his position at the end of the hall, he could tell that the altercation was a heated debate, rather than a medical emergency. He quickened his pace nonetheless, and burst into the room without waiting to be acknowledged.

Ziva was out of bed, standing with her back to the window, facing a press of three nurses and two doctors. Her expression was stony, almost… pissed off. Gibbs felt an unbidden smile stretch his lips; in that instant, he saw the old Ziva, the Ziva he fell in love with. She was still dressed like the Ziva whom he had been visiting the past month and a half, and she still held herself with care, obviously pained, but the fire had returned to her eyes. It was then that he was able to discern what the doctors were saying.

"Miss David," the one nearest to her was saying, "you need to get into bed, and you need to let us attend to you. You cannot refuse your medication. You need it." The doctor's voice was slow, as if speaking to a child, and it put Gibbs on edge. And he knew that if it bothered him, it was definitely bothering Ziva.

"I believe I just did," Ziva said, her voice rock hard—and crystal clear. It rang through Gibbs' ears like music. Again, he marveled at how drastic the change between yesterday and today was. But then he saw her bristle, and he knew she was gearing up for a fight; he could not see the threat though, from his position. "You try to stick me with that needle, doctor, and you will get a broken hand in return, at the very least."

"Now, now, Miss David," the other doctor said as Gibbs briefly wondered where Dr. Johnson was. "We don't want to restrain you, but if you continue to threaten physical violence, or act on those threats, we will not hesitate." The doctor speaking stepped forward. Ziva remained in place, but bristled even more as the doctor approached. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she focused on the growing threat, and Gibbs realized he had to intervene before the situation got out of hand.

He pushed past the nervous-looking nurses. Ziva looked at him, and a humorless smirk crossed her lips.

"Jethro," she said, her voice just as clear as before, "nice of you to join us." He reached out to drag his hand gingerly down her arm.

"You okay?" he asked, more out of habit than anything else.

"No," the reply came quickly. "But if you help these idiots realize it would be safer for them to leave me alone, and I will re-evaluate." Gibbs grinned slightly, but when he turned to face the doctors, his face was a stony mask. The doctors were the first to speak.

"She is refusing medication," the first one said. "She may feel all right now, but soon the pain will get much worse. She is not in the right state of mind to be able to make a decision with such grave consequences." Gibbs heard Ziva mutter darkly in Hebrew in response. Knowing better than to ask her to translate, he proceeded on his own.

"She has the authority in this room," he said calmly. "Not you."

"Who are you?" the second doctor asked. He turned to one of the nurses. "Call security," he ordered. "Get him out of here."

"Where is Doctor Johnson?" Gibbs continued. "She is Officer David's attending. Where is Julia? Both are aware of what may be best for Ziva."

"I think Doctor Johnson is coming on shift right now," one of the nurses in the back piped up. "I could go find her."

"No!" the second doctor said, but the nurse had already disappeared. "The patient does not determine their treatment." His words made anger flare in Gibbs' gut.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he asked, stepping forward threateningly. "She said she didn't want the drugs. Did you ask her _why_ she didn't want them? Or did you jump straight to forced administration?" The doctors shared a slightly guilty glance. "I thought so," Gibbs continued. "You both leave this room right now." When they didn't move, he stepped forward again. "You have ten seconds."

Sharing another look, they still failed to move. However, they were rescued from Gibbs' imminent wrath by the appearance of Doctor Johnson, who had run into the room behind them.

"Roger! Henry!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of anger, indignation, and confusion. She glanced at Ziva and Gibbs, and seeing their less-than-pleased expressions, addressed them. "Agent Gibbs, why don't you get Ziva comfortable, I will be with you both in just a second." Not bothering to wait for an acknowledgement, she turned to her colleagues. When she spoke, her voice was razor-sharp. "You two, outside. Now."

They seemed more familiar with the potency of Johnson's anger than they were with Gibbs', because this time, they did not hesitate to vacate the room. Gibbs then turned back to Ziva, and helped her back to the bed. When she didn't object to his movements, he looked at her inquiringly.

"I left the bed to gain some room to maneuver, when I realized they were not going to respect my decision without a fight," she said in explanation, allowing him to lead her to the bed, and gently help her onto it.

"You wanna tell me exactly what was going on?" he asked. "I better not find out I just backed your decision to be an idiot." The words left his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. However, his momentary apprehension was unneeded, as Ziva broke into a broad grin. This time, unlike her smiles in the past week and a half, this grin reached her eyes, and made her brown orbs sparkle. Before she had a chance to answer though, raised voices from the hall caught their attention, and they watched as Doctor Johnson tore into the two unknown doctors.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Johnson said as the two NCIS agents listened in. Her voice was low, but Gibbs' notoriously keen ears heard her clearly, and he knew by the amused expression on Ziva's face that she heard the doctor's words as well. "You have no say in how I treat _my_ patient! Not only that, you are not familiar with her case, with her condition. And you obviously don't have the requisite bedside manner to even be in this ward!" The two doctors said something in response, but their voices were too mumbled for the agents to hear.

"Bullshit! You have no idea what that woman has been through! She says she doesn't want the drugs, you should at least have the decency to listen to her." Johnson's voice lowered in pitch, but not in volume, as she stepped closer to the men. "You remember how we shut down the building three days ago?" They nodded wordlessly. "That happened because she was missing. Agent Gibbs found her in the garden. She went out there on her own. No one saw her get there, because she did it without assistance." They looked at her in shock.

"Impossible, right?" she continued. "That's what I thought too. Officer David has survived unbeatable odds, and you have the audacity to _force_ drugs into her system?" More hushed words followed.

"_I_ am her attending, and _I_ will decide whether or not her drugs are mandatory." Doctor Johnson paused. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Neither of you will return to this ward until Ziva David has been discharged. She will remain under my care until that time, and if I discover you have attempted to dabble in her case through any of the ward's staff, I will personally see to it that both of your licenses are revoked. As it is, I will be letting the Chief of Medicine know of your blatant unprofessionalism. He will dole out any further punishment as he sees fit." The doctor straightened, taking a bolstering breath while drawing herself up to her full height. "Now get out of my ward."

The two doctors quickly left, their crocs squeaking noisily on the linoleum of the hospital floor. Doctor Johnson waited until she saw them physically vacate the ward before she re-entered the room, looking towards her patient in concern.

"Are you all right, Ziva?" she asked. The patient in question nodded an affirmation, a small grin playing on her lips. Gibbs saw the smile, and ended up sporting one of his own as he explained to the doctor.

"She would have eaten those two for breakfast, broken bones or no," he said, with only the slightest hint of pride sneaking its way into his voice. Doctor Johnson nodded.

"I believe it," she agreed. But then her expression turned serious as she pulled a chair up next to Ziva's bed and sat in it, resting her clipboard on her knees. She met the Israeli's eyes with a scrutinizing look. "Officer David," she said, pausing as she decided how to phrase her concerns. She missed the tensing of Ziva's muscles at the address, but Gibbs didn't. The movement was slight, almost imperceptible, but the Marine had done nothing but memorize every detail, trait, or quirk regarding Ziva in the last month and a half, and to him it was glaringly obvious. Her displeasure worried him; she usually preferred "officer" to "ma'am" or "miss." He would have to remember to ask her about it later.

"Doctors Perry and Reed may have reacted unwisely, and unethically," Doctor Johnson said, recapturing Gibbs' attention, "but it does not invalidate their concerns. I do not advise going off your medication. You have been responding well so far, and all in all, you've been in only moderate pain, given the severity of your injuries. And the medication gives us a degree of stability to your condition. The less pain you are in, the faster you will heal. As your doctor, I advise you to continue your treatment."

"That is not your decision to make, Doctor," Ziva replied calmly. "I will not be taking any more medication." Gibbs knew that tone. He had warned Doctor De la Casa about that tone during the Werth case. He knew it would take more than a speech by Doctor Johnson to get Ziva to change her mind.

"You're right, it is not my decision," Johnson agreed, "but neither is it a decision you should take lightly."

"I am not doing anything lightly, doctor, I assure," Ziva said. "I am _not_ taking those drugs." Then a mischievous smile curled her lips. "But I would understand if you wanted to kick me out of the hospital for my insolence." Gibbs barked out a laugh at her blatant ploy for an early discharge. Even Doctor Johnson cracked a smile before sighing in defeat.

"Nice try, Ziva," she said. Then she stood. "All right. As your doctor I do not approve of your decision, but it _is_ yours to make." She shrugged helplessly. "I'll go draw up the paperwork."

"Thank you, doctor," Ziva said. Her voice was sincere, but Gibbs could also detect a hint of triumph in her voice. Gibbs made eye contact with the doctor, and upon seeing a silent command in her gaze, he nodded. She wanted to know what had spurred what had spurred her patient's sudden decision, but knew that the only person she would possibly tell was the silver-haired Marine. And the good doctor was planning on the Marine relaying the information on to her once Ziva opened up. As soon as the door shut behind the doctor, he spoke.

"Ziver," he said, his voice low. "What are you doing?"

"I have already explained," she replied simply.

"No, you explained to the doctor. Not to me. And if you think that non-explanation you gave her is going to fly with me, I'll smack the back of your head so hard you'll wish you'd stayed on the meds." She glared at him in response to his threat, but he knew that it was more in challenge than in indignation or fear.

"I do not know what you want to hear, Gibbs. But I would only be repeating myself if I explained my decision once again." Her eyes narrowed sharply. "You used to trust my judgment," she accused.

"That was before—" He caught himself from finishing his thought, but the fire in Ziva's eyes told him he was too late; the damage had been done.

"Before what, Gibbs?" she demanded. Her voice was hard, and he realized that she was going to twist this—after his three failed marriages, he was familiar with female fight tactics. "Before I became an invalid? Before I was shot, before I was abducted twice, tortured for information on the man who ended up being the one to shoot me? Before the building collapsed on us?" She paused for effect, and Gibbs knew she was going in for the kill. "Or do you mean before you started sleeping with me?" Her words stabbed into him painfully, but he managed to look past them, and realize what she was trying to do.

"Nice try," he said, leaning towards her, putting his face inches from hers with his hands planted on the bed next to her. "But you're not getting out of explaining yourself so easily. Now talk to me. What's going on with you?" She met his gaze fiercely, and when her jaw clenched stubbornly, he pushed himself away in exasperation. "Dammit, Ziva!" he shouted. "I think I have a right to know why you're setting yourself up for more pain. I've earned at least that much!"

"I am familiar with pain, Jethro." The use of his given name grounded him. Her voice remained calm, but didn't lose any of its strength. "I can handle it." He shoved himself away from the bed angrily, taking a few paces to distance himself.

"Oh you mean like how you handled it last weekend, when you could barely open your mouth enough to tell me to get lost? Maybe you've forgotten, but I sure as hell haven't." He turned towards her. "Jesus, Ziva, I've already seen you die in my arms. I don't need you causing yourself more pain than is absolutely necessary just because you have to prove to yourself that you can _handle_ it."

"I am not dead Jethro." Her voice was soft. He looked at her quizzically.

"What?"

"You said you saw me die in your arms. I am not dead." Gibbs ran a hand over his face tiredly as he realized his slip of tongue. Those damn nightmares—damn reality too; images of her seizing in his arms, bloody and broken, were not so different from the scenes of his nightmares. The only difference was that in his dreams, he didn't go to the hospital with her—he went to her funeral.

"Look, Ziva," he said, avoiding her observation. "You've been so out of it lately that I doubt your ability to make a rational decision, and I seriously doubt you have any accurate idea of what you can 'take'."

"That is why I cannot take the medication."

Her words were so soft that Gibbs almost missed them. But he knew that he had heard them correctly when he glanced at her and found her looking down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together in her lap. Her anger and indignation had disappeared, and Gibbs found that he missed them; they had made her the closest to her old self since she had woken up.

"Ziva…" He came around to the side of her bed, but she turned her face away from him. "Ziva, please, explain this to me. I want to understand." She finally looked at him, and her eyes were burning with a dark fire. After a moment, she spoke, dropping her gaze again.

"The drugs—" she started softly. "They put a fog in my head." Her words made him start. They were identical to the ones Corporal Werth had given him, when the Marine had been afflicted by bouts of extreme, and lethal, bouts of aggression. "I cannot see past the cloud, and even when I can manage to stay awake, they make me dizzy, confused. I can barely think, and it takes so much effort to just form a sentence…" She drifted off. In the next moment though, she had taken a deep breath, getting herself back on track.

"I cannot live like that, Jethro. I cannot be that vulnerable. Not now, not after—" She didn't finish her thought, and she didn't need to. In that moment he knew that he could not in all fairness ask her to continue receiving the medication. He knew how such debilitation can feel like. Before he could reach out and take her hand in comfort, she continued to speak.

"I would take three times the pain of that day last week if it meant I no longer felt so…" Her voice trailed off once more, and this again, she didn't try to finish her sentence. Taking her hand, Gibbs traced his thumb over her soft skin in comforting circles. When she refused to meet his gaze, he gently took her chin and turned it toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked. She didn't answer. "Did you think I wouldn't understand? Of all people, Ziva, I would be the one to know what you're going through."

"You've spent so much time here as it is," she mumbled. "I did not want you to know that I…"

"What? That you were weak? I would _never_ think that of you." He stroked her hair softly. "Ziva, you are the strongest person I have ever known. You would put all of my men to shame." A barely-there smile tickled her lips. "Ziva, please, if anything is bothering you, don't shut me out. Tell me. Especially if I can help."

"There are things I do not wish to talk about Gibbs." Her voice was quiet. "There are some things you cannot fix."

"Maybe not." He agreed. "But that doesn't mean you have to keep it from me."

"You do not need to know." Frustration flared within Gibbs then. But then he saw her expression, and his anger deflated. Her eyes were troubled, guarded. He knew he was doing the one thing he had vowed to never do. He was pushing her, and in the process, he was pushing her away from him. She was pulling back, withdrawing. He shouldn't have pressed.

"All right," he said. "I won't push you. But I am here if you change your mind." She nodded in acknowledgement. When she turned to look at him a moment later, her face was expressionless.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was flat. Gibbs closed his eyes in pain when he heard the barriers in her voice; the same barriers he had fought so hard to get through. He may have been expecting this, but it didn't make it any less painful.

"I'm going to talk to Doctor Johnson, let her know you're okay," he said. She nodded once more as he stood to leave. He turned back to look at her when he reached the door, and he found she had already shifted her attention to the window. He left silently, and returned just as quietly fifteen minutes later.

She looked up at his entrance, and wordlessly shifted on the bed to open up enough space for him to climb up next to her. With a small grin, he accepted the silent invitation by joining her on the bed. After a moment or two, she relaxed against him.

"It is not that I do not trust you," she said softly. "I just—I cannot talk about it." He rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"I understand," he said. And it was enough for both of them. They sat in silence for a while, until Gibbs felt Ziva's breathing even out as she drifted off to sleep. He didn't leave, instead taking the time to think about what could be weighing on her so heavily that she couldn't talk to her about it.

It was likely she was trying to protect him from something. But what was it? The identities of the men who had taken her from the first crime scene? Or maybe it was something they had done to her, when he had been cuffed to that cursed support beam after they had dragged her from the room? The idea made him freeze.

He didn't remember Dr. Johnson saying anything about sexual assault. They would have known to check for those injuries, for sure. And if they had found anything, they would have told him about it, since she hadn't been awake to tell them to keep it from him. And he would have definitely remembered if they had told him she had been raped. He wouldn't be able to forget something like that. He forced his mind away from that line of thinking. He then let his mind wander until he himself drifted into a light slumber.

--

Over the next few days, Ziva embraced her state of awareness with enthusiasm. She remained alert, and steadily became more and more like her old self. When Tony and McGee visited, she was able to joke and tease with them. Abby's visits had been forced to become a bit more subdued, as the increased pain from Ziva's injuries were overly sensitive to the Goth's affectionate ministrations without the numbing effect of the drugs. Ziva never complained, but Gibbs was aware of her pain by watching even the most minute of body movements and facial expressions.

Abby herself was not put out by the restrictions on her infamous hugs. She was overjoyed at seeing the improvement in Ziva's cognitive abilities. She visited almost every day, and would spend hours recounting to Ziva their latest case, complete with tangents and derailed trains of thought.

Tony and McGee also visited often. The two men had both been uncomfortable at seeing Ziva in the hospital bed, despite her increased awareness. The senior field agent, who was filling in as team leader only until Gibbs returned, had covered his discomfort by making crude jokes and inane movie references. He did not cease his antics until Ziva threatened him with particularly descriptive words. The man had paled, and then broke into a wide grin. After that blast of normalcy, he had relaxed, and become more like the partner she remembered.

McGee had been more difficult to reassure, but Ziva was diligent, knowing that the young agent cared too much about his colleagues' well-being. He had not learned how to effectively cope with such grievous injuries, even if they were not his own. He was also naïve, and Ziva figured he felt at least a small degree of guilt over what had happened to her, despite the fact that the entire situation had been out of his control. But after enough reassuring smiles and comforting touches from the Israeli, and the computer whiz slowly relaxed, and accepted that Ziva was no longer on the brink of death.

Gibbs savored the few calm days that followed, knowing that whenever Ziva was involved, it was never quiet for long. Something would happen soon, something that would shake them up again. He only hoped that whatever it was, it would not be life threatening; to Ziva, or to anyone else in the hospital.


	12. Past Mysteries

It was early afternoon, with Ziva napping lightly against him as Gibbs let his mind wander. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular—he was simply enjoying Ziva's presence and the warmth of the sun from where it shone through the window. This time, he was on the side of the bed closest to the window, and Ziva was propped against him, causing her to face the door slightly. He was so relaxed and absorbed in his own thoughts that he was not aware of a foreign presence until Ziva shifted on the bed next to him.

Shaken out of his reverie, he found that she had twisted on the bed to place herself between him and the tall, gray-haired man that stood in the doorway. Her posture was defensive, and when he moved to get off the bed, the heavy presence of her bandaged hand kept him in place. The intruder was obviously not a doctor, as he was dressed in a dark suit, complete with a nice tie and polished black shoes. His skin was golden, similar to Ziva's, and his bespectacled eyes were weary. Gibbs would have said he looked kindly, if not for Ziva's suspicious reaction.

Before Gibbs had a chance to question the stranger, Ziva spoke rapidly in Hebrew. Her voice was hard, heavy—resigned. The sound of Ziva's native language put Gibbs on edge, and he again attempted to get off the bed, this time to eliminate the threat this unknown man posed, but Ziva's hand was unyielding this time her two unwrapped fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. He had predicted that this would happen; that Director David would send someone to make sure that Ziva was dead. More Hebrew was fired in the man's direction. Gibbs eyes remained glued to the unfamiliar figure, even as the man raised his hands in an attempt to ease their suspicion.

"Please, Ziva," the man said, his voice husky. Gibbs was surprised the man answered in English—he had expected to be excluded from conversation entirely. "I am not here to harm you."

"You expect me to believe that?" Ziva responded, slipping expertly into English as well. "Coming from you? You will have to do better than that; I am no longer comatose." Her cynicism would have made Gibbs glance her way, but he was too preoccupied with the stranger to do so.

"I cannot make you trust me," the man said. "I am merely hoping you will remember that I have never lied to you. That I would _never_ lie to you. Please, _Zivaleh_."

Gibbs' eyes flashed to Ziva at the use of the endearment. It was clear to him that they knew each other. The man, he deduced, was Israeli—which meant he was still a threat in Gibbs' eyes. However, much to his surprise, Ziva relaxed after a moment of hesitation following the man's plea. She didn't move from her position in front of Gibbs, but the hand not on his leg came up to brace her ribs. The motion had become familiar in the days following the cessation of her medication, and Gibbs didn't pay it any mind. The man, however, tracked the movement with his eyes. In the next moment, his expression turned angry. Hebrew passed his lips, and this time it sounded familiar to the Marine's ears. Ziva had said the same words in his basement, when she had realized Eschel had set her up. Gibbs had looked her words later: "_filthy pig"_, they had meant.

The man started to move forward, but stopped. He then looked at Ziva, as if waiting for her permission to come closer. His restraint impressed Gibbs—it showed that he was familiar with and respectful of Ziva's need for space. After a moment, Ziva nodded toward the chair next to the bed, inviting him to sit down.

"Thank you," the man said as he sat down. "Ziva, I—"

"Agent Gibbs," Ziva interrupted, "this is Officer Bashan. He is on a long-term assignment at the Israeli Embassy. I went to him for help after I witnessed the bombing in Georgetown."

"Did he help?" Gibbs asked, his eyes glued to the man, who refrained from offering a handshake, instead giving the Marine a nod in greeting.

"I had to drag you away from your Mexican beach," she said dryly. "What do you think?" After a moment, she added, "But he did try. It simply was not enough."

"Do you trust him?" came Gibbs' next question. A moment of silence followed as she gathered her thoughts.

"I do not know anymore," she answered finally. Gibbs' eyes caught the slight shift in Bashan's eyes. He thought he saw a glimmer of disappointment, and even hurt, but it was gone before he could be certain. "But I believe him when he says he is not going to kill me," Ziva continued.

Gibbs looked at her in surprise. Her expression was just as guard as Bashan's, but to his keen eye, he saw something indistinguishable in her gaze as she focused on her fellow officer's. Silence fell as neither spoke.

"I see our assumption of you sleeping with Agent Dinozzo was incorrect," Officer Bashan said finally, almost conversationally. Gibbs looked at Ziva in mild amusement. How had he not heard of this before? Mossad was known for being adept at gathering accurate intel, which means that that must have had have seen something of a questionable nature. He was curious to know what it was. "But it seems were not entirely off-base," Bashan continued.

"Michael—" Ziva started, her voice warning, but Bashan waved her off.

"I am happy for you, Ziva. It has been a long time since…" His voice tailed off, and Ziva looked down at the bed covers on her lap. Gibbs did not miss the change in mood, though Ziva quickly picked up the conversation again.

"Why are you here, Michael?" she asked. "I know that if you are not going to kill, your visit was not sanctioned."

"You are correct. It has not been sanctioned. No one knows I am here, as my staff believes I am on a day trip to Paris." He paused before continuing. "But I thought you deserved better than not hearing this in person, from a friend." Ziva looked at him expectantly, which Bashan returned with a pained look before morphing his features into a mask of indifference. It was a look Ziva assumed when forced to do something she disliked. "You have been reported dead to the Israeli government. Your position at Mossad has been terminated. You are not to return to Israeli soil at any time in the future, for any reason. You are not to contact any citizen of Israel, regardless of their location. Any violation of these orders will be considered a threat upon the state of Israel, and will be responded to accordingly." Bashan paused. "Do you understand?" Ziva had not averted her gaze during the man's recitation, and when she spoke, her voice was strong.

"Yes." Bashan reached out and took one of her hands in his. She glanced at the contact, but didn't react, her expression stony. After a moment, she met the older man's gaze once more.

"I am sorry," Bashan said. Now his expression was tender, his tone gentle. "But there is no other option." Ziva's hand curled around his.

"I know," she said softly. "I knew this was going to happen. Thank you for telling me in person, Michael." Her voice was grateful, reassuring, letting the man know she didn't blame him.

"My visit was also for personal reasons," the man continued. "I also came to see you,_ Zivaleh_." A tiny squeeze of her hand accompanied his words. "You must know, Ziva, I had no knowledge of Officer Rivkin's and your father's actions until after the fact."

"Michael, what happened was not your fault. It was going to happen sooner or later, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him."

"Did you really kill Ari?" he asked.

"Yes." Her answer was firm.

"I never doubted your report when you revealed him to be a traitor to Israel." Ziva looked at him. "Many of us believed you. Your actions were justified, even laudable, given your personal relation to him. But your—"

"I know, Michael," she interrupted. She winced slightly as she spoke too loudly, stretching her still-healing ribs too much. Bashan saw this and reacted, even as Gibbs ran his hand gently over her ribcage, knowing the motion would comfort her. Anger flared in Bashan's eyes, but Gibbs recognized that it was not directed at Ziva or himself, but rather toward the injury itself.

"I did not want to believe what Ari told Gibbs about my father," she continued. "I was able to avoid the issue for the two years I was first at NCIS, and then when I returned, he was eager to be more involved in my personal life. I was able to believe Ari had lied." She paused before continuing. "But now, I know he was telling the truth."

"Your father is not the man he believes himself to be," Officer Bashan told her. "He claims to uphold traditional values, but he merely perverts them." He leaned closer to her, looking deep into her eyes. "He will rot in hell for doing this to you," he said. His voice was so venomous that Gibbs knew the man believed his words whole-heartedly. "If I had known his intentions, I would have stopped him, _Zivaleh_, even if it meant putting a bullet in his head." His words surprised Gibbs—how well did the two Israelis know each other? It was obvious that they had a history, but it seemed more than just a professional relationship.

"Please, Michael, it is done," Ziva told him. "Do not risk your career, or your life, on me." Her voice was quiet. Bashan scooted his chair closer to the bed, covering their clasped hands with his free hand.

"Ziva," he said, his voice low, but blatantly honest, "I would do that and more for you. I never approved of the way Eli raised you and Ari. When you and—" At this his voice skipped, and Gibbs almost missed it. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands clench Bashan's tightly. "When you joined our family," the older man revised, "I sought to give you what he refused. At first it was a moral obligation, and an easy way to keep the future deputy director's daughter safe. But in just a few weeks, you had carved a place our hearts. Those years before…" Again the man caught himself. "Those years you were with us, you completed our family." Bashan paused. "Hanna still asks about you. She is always worried about you."

"I have tried to keep in touch," Ziva replied, her voice thick. "But it is difficult, even in America."

"We know," he reassured her. "And we both understand." The man glanced at Gibbs, and saw the confusion in the Marine's eyes. "I think your friend is feeling a little left out," he said to Ziva, who looked back at Gibbs, as if just remembering he was there. "I think he would not mind an explanation."

"It wouldn't hurt," Gibbs said. But then he suddenly felt the need to backtrack, sensing that this was an extremely sensitive topic. "But you don't have to," he added. "This is something between you and Officer Bashan."

"No," Ziva said. "You are right. You should know. I want you to know. I think." Her voice was uncharacteristically thick, heavy with barely concealed emotion. It reminded him of the days following the death of Andy Hoffman, when she had been plagued with guilt and doubt. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke once more, her voice sounded marginally stronger.

"I know Officer Bashan on a personal level because I went to school with his son. Shmuel." The name sounded familiar to Gibbs. "Shmuel Rubenstein," Ziva specified.

"Isn't he--?"

"Yes," Ziva answered, knowing where his question was going. "He is the boy I hit on the playground because he told me he liked me." She smiled, and even Bashan chuckled.

"He was mortified, I remember," the older man said. "But he doubled his efforts in his combat lessons after that. He told me it was to make sure he beat you the next time around, but Hanna and I suspected it was to impress you." Turning to Gibbs, he said, "Hannah is my wife. Shmuel took her maiden name; an added layer of protection against those who would target my children for who their father is."

"We became best friends after that day on the playground," Ziva said. "Our families were already close, due to our fathers' connections. We used to go everywhere together, and as we progressed through school, we always shared classes."

"They were inseparable. From the time they were eight… even when they joined Mossad. After Ziva's mother died, we made sure that she and Tali were able to spend time in our home whenever they wished. Their father spent most of his time in the office, or away on assignment, and Hannah could not bear the thought of them spending all that time in an empty house." Bashan smiled. "You and Shmuel used to get into so much trouble, even with Tali acting as your voice of reason. I think she just gave up on trying to save you two."

"She did," Ziva informed him. "She told me one night. She was eight, and already telling me I was too headstrong for her to bother with anymore. After that, she just wanted to hear the stories of our exploits." Gibbs grinned, imagining the different kinds of trouble Ziva must have gotten into. He had already gotten a glimpse of her ability to prank, and he was sure that it had only been a taste of what she was capable of. "We were fourteen," Ziva continued, "when Shmuel first kissed me." Gibbs eyes found hers, only to see that they were slightly unfocused, and he knew that she was lost in her memories. "We used to sneak out at night to meet each other, so that my father would not find out."

"Hannah and I gave up trying to ground him. Especially once we discovered exactly who he was sneaking out to meet." He smiled warmly at Ziva.

"He helped me when my mother died, and again when Tali was killed. He kept me from losing myself to my hate. He became my voice of reason, the only person who could get through to me." Ziva shifted on the bed until she could face Gibbs. Her expression was nostalgic, but also full of pain. "I was engaged. To Shmuel, when we were nineteen." Gibbs felt a jolt of shock run through him. He kept his expression blank though, knowing that any shift on his part could cause her to abandon her story.

"We hid it from everyone," she continued, "even Michael. At that point, we had both joined Mossad, and in Mossad, two agents cannot officially engage in a personal relationship. Many people have affairs, especially when on a mission, but no one ever marries their colleagues. At least, not while they are both part of Mossad. One of the couple would have to leave Mossad, if they wished to put their love life before their country. And my father would not have approved of our relationship. I was too valuable, with too much potential as an operative. I could not leave Mossad, and Shmuel refused to let me join alone. So we waited, remained engaged for years."

For several moments neither Israeli spoke. Gibbs looked at Ziva, and found an all-too-familiar expression. Her brown eyes were dark, focused on some indistinguishable point in her past. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tense. Her breath was slow, deliberate—she was trying to keep her emotions in check. She didn't want anyone to see what she was swirling her around in her mind, and she didn't her emotions to show. Suddenly, Gibbs felt his heart fall, knowing that this story was not going to have a happy ending.

"What happened?" He asked finally, his voice soft and careful. His heart hurt—he didn't really want to see her have to recount how her childhood love story had ended. Because, he reasoned, it must have ended, for she was now with him, and not Shmuel. He hoped that it had simply been a bad break-up, but from hearing her talk about their relationship… he knew that only one thing could have ended it.

"Shmuel was sent undercover," Bashan said when Ziva did not immediately answer, "to infiltrate a Hamas cell. He was successful in his mission." The man's voice was now slow and careful. "He remained undercover within the cell until his cover was compromised."

"There was a case," Ziva said, her voice quiet, "a few years ago. We busted a chop shop, remember? And we found a cooler in the trunk."

"I remember," he said.

"I had a conversation with Tony." She cleared her throat. "Did you overhear it?"

"Yes." He recalled the conversation, vaguely. It had been when Ziva had revealed she would never be captured alive. At the time, he had not found the revelation surprising. Many of his fellow Marines had had similar vows, and it was logical for people in the intelligence community to have them as well.

"I told Tony that it had been a friend." Her voice strained under the weight of withheld tears. "But he was not just a friend." A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and traced its way down her cheek. More quickly followed, though she tried to wipe them away furiously. For a few minutes, Gibbs thought she was going to lose it completely, but true to form, she managed to keep her emotions in check. The tears disappeared, and she cleared the sobs from her throat.

"Shmuel's head was shipped to Mossad by overnight express," Bashan said, his grip on Ziva's hand tight. "His control officer alerted Ziva to the package, and—" He halted his story as Ziva squeezed his hand even tighter. The tears in her eyes returned as she gazed up at Bashan once more. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. Gibbs' keen ears were able to hear her clearly, but it was in vain as he quickly realized she had reverted back to Hebrew. After a few moments, he heard the same words being repeated over and over.

"_Aní mitzta'éret meód_," she repeated. She clutched Bashan's hand as if it were a life line. The older man moved to sit next to her on the bed, and quickly took her into his arms, though gently enough for the movement to not cause her pain. Gibbs didn't need to understand Hebrew to know that she was expressing her guilt over what happened to Shmuel. Knowing how Ziva usually compartmentalized, Gibbs realized that this was probably the first time she had spoken of her remorse to Bashan.

Ziva clung to the older man as tightly as she could. She buried her face in his shoulder, her own shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Gibbs watched as kind, weathered hands wrapped around Ziva, giving comfort as they held her close. Gibbs knew that in any other instance, the scene in front of him would have caused jealousy to flare within him, but he had been on the receiving end of Ziva's rare display of heavy emotion. He knew that once the tears started, once she revealed how vulnerable she really was under her defenses, it was impossible to keep yourself from doing everything in your power to ease her pain.

"Shhh," Michael whispered comfortingly in her ear. After a long moment, her shoulders stilled, and the older Israeli pulled away to make direct eye contact. "It was not your fault, _Zivaleh_," he said in English. "Shmuel knew the risks. We all do. Your father offered the mission to both of you, but to Shmuel there was only one option." He paused to brush a lock of hair from Ziva's damp cheek. "He would not have been able to live with himself if had willingly let you go on that mission. You know how Hamas treats their women. Shmuel was not going to let that happen to you."

"But—"

"No, Ziva," he interrupted. "He made the right decision. Hannah and I miss him, but we have been able to come to terms with his death because it meant that you were still safe. It is how he would have wanted it." A thick silence fell then. Gibbs let it continue, knowing it was not his to break. Instead he waited, giving the two friends time to gather themselves. Ziva was the next to speak, and her husky words triggered another bout of tears.

"I miss him too." And then Bashan was hugging her once more, pulling her smug against him as her arms wrapped around him in reciprocation.

"I know," the man said softly. "I know." Both Israelis gave and received comfort for several long minutes as Gibbs' mind went into hyper-drive. He hadn't had any idea Ziva had been so involved with anyone in her past. What little she had revealed about her past had been relayed in a detached, almost cold way, and had always painted an equally cold childhood. But now he was being told that Ziva had found love, a love she had been willing to marry for. She had trusted a man with all her heart, her soul. And she had been forced to bury that love, a sacrifice given to Mossad and the greater good of Israel.

No wonder she was so quick to shut others out, to keep them at arm's length. Everyone else she had held dear had ended up dead, a murder, or a traitor… or all three. So much pain, and yet she had not shared it with him. It was pain she still felt, if the vice-like grip she had on his leg was any indication. A quiet thought whispered in the back of his mind; Shmuel was Ziva's Shannon. Shmuel had shaped Ziva's life, and his love and death had made Ziva who she was today.

Gibbs remained patient, gazing at the two friends, knowing first-hand that acceptance and forgiveness was necessary to heal such a broken past. His mind drifted to Shannon and Kelly. He knew the pain of losing a loved one, and he knew the pain had almost ended him. He wondered why Ziva had never told him about Shmuel. Granted he had never told anyone about his wife and daughter—she herself had only learned about their existence when she had done research for the dossiers she made for Ari. But had she thought he wouldn't understand? But he scolded himself. He had never told anyone about his own past because it helped him cope. Keeping his wife and daughter his secret kept them close to his heart.

Finally, Ziva and Michael parted. Ziva took a moment to compose herself, and Bashan removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. In the moments that followed, Gibbs took one of Ziva's hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked at him, half-expecting him to be hurt that she had never mentioned such an important part of her life with him. But she found only understanding and love in his eyes, and it made her shoulders lift slightly, as if a burden had left them.

She squeezed his hand in return. She couldn't bring herself to smile for him, but Gibbs didn't seem to care. He pulled her into a gentle one-armed hug. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she knew that they would be continuing this conversation later, and more deeply. But for some reason, she didn't mind. Perhaps it was because she felt he deserved to know, or that he had been through a similar heartbreak. But maybe, just maybe, it was because it had felt so good to get it off her chest, this weight that had been pressing down on her for almost a decade.

"_Zivaleh_," Bashan said, his voice clear, "where did he shoot you?" The question was off-topic, but it still needed no clarification of who '_he'_ was.

"Here," she said, indicating the region between her chest and abdomen. "My ribs shattered upon impact, because they had already been broken before the shot." Her voice was now clinical as she recounted her injuries. "But I am healing well," she assured the old man.

"I would not have expected any less of you," he replied, a smile crossing his lips. "You have always been a quick healer. Hannah said it was because you are a survivor, but I am of the belief that you simply do not have the patience to heal for the customary period of time. Your body has simply learned to adapt," he added with a wink.

"She forgot to mention the fractured femur, cheekbone, and fingers," Gibbs added. Ziva held up her bandaged hand for the older man to see.

"Two pins," she said, her tone slightly prideful. Gibbs bit back a grin. Of course Ziva would have no problem showing off her injuries with an old Mossad friend. He half expected the old man to reveal some of his own battle wounds to compare. However, Officer Bashan did not.

"I know that you were in a coma as well," the older Israeli said. "I waited for you to wake up, so that I could come visit you. Hannah insisted I come earlier, but I knew I would only have one chance to speak to you." Bashan smiled warmly. "She will be comforted to know her _motek_ is doing well." Then his eyes shifted from fatherly to deadly serious. "Ziva," he said slowly, "your father did not kill you."

"Not for lack of trying," Gibbs interjected sharply before Ziva had a chance to reply. The older Israeli looked at him.

"You do not understand, Agent Gibbs—"

"I understand plenty," Gibbs interrupted. "The bastard shot his own daughter point-blank and left her to die."

"I am not debating the state of his moral character, Agent Gibbs. I agree that Eli David is indeed a bastard. And I understand your anger. But I believe that there is a distinction to be made, one that may lend some peace to Ziva. Eli David did not kill Ziva."

"What the—"

"Jethro." Ziva's voice was low, but strong. He looked at her, pressing his lips together as he waited for her to speak. "Did you see what happened to Officer Machuv?" Realizing Gibbs would not know the name of the man who had aided Rivkin, she continued. "The one who earned himself a bullet between the eyes." Gibbs nodded, remembering how the Director of Mossad had killed the man without hesitation. "The Director could have done the same thing to me. If he wanted me dead, I would be. It would have been just as easy to shoot me in the head, or even the heart. But he did not."

"He gave Ziva a chance. A small, minute chance, but it was enough," Bashan explained. "That means something."

"Do not misunderstand us," Ziva continued before Gibbs could speak. "As soon as the bullet left the gun, I was dead to him. He did not _spare_ me. It was merely his way of absolving himself of guilt. If he had killed me, with a bullet to the head, then my blood would be on his hands, just as Ari's is on mine. By shooting me as he did, he gave me just enough chance to live so that he could not be held accountable when I still died anyway." Her voice had turned dark, and her brown eyes were stormy. Bashan grasped her hand gently once more, but didn't speak. Gibbs remained silent as well, not knowing how to respond. When Ziva also refrained from speaking, the resulting silence filled the room. After a few minutes, Officer Bashan glanced at his watch. His shoulders fell as he realized it was getting late.

"I must leave now." He stood, but paused at the side of her bed, gazing down at her fondly. "I do not think I will be able to get in touch with you again," he said, "with things the way they are." Ziva nodded, her face calm. "But Hannah will know that you are alive—and happy." He turned to Gibbs. "I have made arrangements with your Director for Ziva to become an American citizen and to become a Special Agent at NCIS if she chooses to accept it. Her job is safe, but the rest is up to you, Agent Gibbs. Take care of her," he instructed, not unkindly. He extended his hand, and Gibbs shook it firmly from his position on the bed.

"I plan to," the Marine responded. The older man gazed into Gibbs' clear blue eyes, searching for something. It seemed that he had found it, for after a moment or two he nodded and shifted his attention back to Ziva. He said a few soft words to her in their native Hebrew. When he finished, Ziva gave a nod. Bashan leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"_Shalom, bat_," he said. He made his way to the door, and then turned back. "Your father's influence within Mossad is not unchallenged," he said, his tone serious. "And he is an old man; you shall outlive him by many years." He gave her a pointed look. "I _will_ see you again, _Zivaleh_."

And then he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click. Silence fell as Gibbs processed everything that had just been shared with him, and Ziva lost herself in her own thoughts. She was only broken out of her reverie when Gibbs finally spoke.

"Why does it matter how old your father is?" he asked. When she answered, her voice was expressionless. Gibbs let her slip back into her habitual state of disguising her emotions, knowing that the conversation had been taxing for her.

"My status was determined and ordered by the Director. As long as he lives, and is in power, my status will not change."

"Your status?" She looked at him, but her gaze was resigned, rather than judgmental of his ignorance.

"I have been exiled, Jethro," she said. There was a pain in her voice that Gibbs almost missed, and he knew that it bothered her more than she was going to admit. "I am not allowed to return to Israel or have any contact with my friends or family there. Any violation of that decree is punishable by death." She paused. "Michael took a great risk by coming here. He should not have."

"But if he hadn't, you wouldn't have known you had been exiled," Gibbs said. When she didn't answer, instead focusing on the blanket in her lap, he sighed with realization. "You already knew."

"Yes," she replied simply. "I know enough about the inner workings of Mossad to know an exile when I see one."

"So you knew your father 'let' you live out of self-preservation rather than love, and you knew that your existence meant your banishment." He didn't phrase it as a question, for it was really for his benefit only. She answered it anyway.

"Yes. I am dead to him, and through him, to Israel as well. I will remain dead for as long as he lives, and remains Director of Mossad." Her hands clenched the bed sheet.

"This I what's been bothering you, isn't it?" he asked. "You've been trying to deal with this on your own."He looked at her, but his tone was not accusatory. "You tried to hide it from me." At his words, Ziva bristled slightly.

"There was, and is, nothing you could do," she said brusquely.

"Maybe not about changing your status," he said indignantly, responding to her growing hostility. "But I could have been there for you."

"You _are_ here for me," she interrupted, her voice now full of strong reassurance. The shift in her tone made him look into her eyes. "You _are_ here for me, Jethro. You have no idea how much your very presence in this room means to me. I have never had that before," she explained, "not even with Shmuel." She paused. "Whenever I was in the hospital, my father would send a protection detail. Nobody was allowed in or out of my room except for medical personnel.

"I am not usually one of those people who talks about every little thought that passes through their heads," she continued. "Neither are you, and I think that is the only reason you have waited this long in addressing your concerns. I know you are worried about my state of mind, and that you have been waiting for me to break down, like any other girl would. You think I am shutting you out, withdrawing from you. I haven't been. I have been my usual self, Jethro." She smiled slightly. "You are simply being paranoid." Gibbs blinked, fully aware of how accurate her words were.

"You now know almost everything that has happened in my life. It frightens me a little, to have someone know me so well. But I know that there is no other person I trust more to not abuse the power you now have. We will still talk about things, Jethro, but… But I do not want to talk about this, not now.

"Please, I am not pushing you away. I just—it is too much. You know what happened to Shmuel, and who he was to me. If I talk about him anymore, I do not think…" Her voice halted, breaking slightly with her last words. Her breath was heavy as she strove to control her emotions.

"All right," Gibbs said. "I understand." He wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry." She twitched slightly as the forbidden apology passed his lips, but remained silent. "But I don't want you to think you have to go through this on your own."

"I know," she said into his shoulder. "I know. Now I have you."

"That's right," he said. "And I'm not going anywhere." A minute or two of silence followed before she finally responded.

"Thank you," she said. He gave her one last squeeze before releasing her. She leaned back against the pillows. Looking at her tired expression, he realized that Bashan's visit had been physically draining as well and emotionally. It would only be a matter of time before she fell asleep.

She shifted her legs on the bed slightly, and a rustle of paper against the blanket caught Gibbs' attention. Looking toward the noise, he found a small envelope resting against her covered legs. He reached down and grasped it in his fingers, bringing it toward him as he scanned it with his sharp eyes. Flipping it over, he saw Hebrew glyphs inscribed on the paper. Ziva peered over his shoulder at it, and upon recognizing the seemingly nonsensical squiggles, gently took it from him.

"That is Michael's handwriting," she said. "I wonder why he did not simply hand it to me." Her attention focused on the envelope, as if not entirely certain she wanted to know what was inside. But then a moment later, she was using her unbandaged fingers to pull out what Gibbs recognized as a photograph. She turned it over, and the colors of the picture came into sight. It took less than a second for Ziva to recognize the picture, and she let out a soft, pained sigh.

He reached out and tilted the photograph toward him so he could get a better look. The image on the thick cardstock took his breath away. It featured two people, wrapped in each other's arms against a backdrop of the vibrantly blue water of an ocean and faded stone buildings adorned with exotic designs. Green trees shone along the water shore, providing shade and adding to the beauty of the scene.

The taller of the two people was male. Startling gray eyes looked down on the woman in his arms. White teeth gleamed against his tan skin, and a mop of unruly black hair fell over his brow. His attention was focused entirely on the young woman who stood next to him.

A lump formed in Gibbs' throat as he recognized the girl—Ziva. But it was not the same Ziva he had met four years ago, after Kate's death. The Ziva in the picture was young, vibrantly full of life, even through the lens of a camera. Her hair was not quite as long as it was now, but it was rich and silky, not as unruly as it had been when she first joined NCIS. In the picture it was casually twisted and pulled over one shoulder, exposing a tan, gracefully sloping neck to the wind and sun.

Her back was against the man's chest, his arms encircling her waist. She was bent forward slightly, as if he had pulled her to him just as the picture had been taken. They were both dressed for warm weather, with her in a simple tank top and he in a plain t-shirt. Ziva's arms were toned and muscular even then, her skin glowing in the warm sunlight. The man's arms were unobtrusive, but were clearly strong as well. Gibbs' knew both of their sleek musculatures were a result of years growing up to be part of Mossad, trained to kill; but to anyone else, they were athletic, young, full of life. Ziva's hands rested casually on the arms holding her, her palms flat, as if reveling in the contact. It was her face though, that captured Gibbs' attention the most.

Her brown eyes were sparkling as they looked directly into the camera. They crinkled at the corners as she laughed. Gibbs could hear her full-throated laugh echo through his head as he gazed upon her younger self. She was happy—happier than he had ever seen her before. She appeared so carefree; the ever-present burden she carried now was gone, leaving only smiles and sunlight to be found. She was so comfortable, even in such close proximity to the man—Shmuel, Gibbs deduced.

In his mind's eye, he could see the scene play out, with Ziva leaning back into Shmuel's touch, as the man's hand splayed over her firm stomach. Her eyes closed, and Gibbs knew she was taking a snapshot of memory, before turning in the man's arms to face him, lacing her arms around his neck. Their foreheads touched as they smiled into each other's eyes. They were so absorbed in the other's presence that they forgot anyone else in the world existed.

Gibbs could see that Shmuel was as deeply in love with Ziva as she was with him. The devotion in the man's eyes was clearly tangible as he gazed down at her, even in the picture. The two of them were no older than 20, and though Gibbs knew that in Israel they were more mature than Americans nearing their thirties, the two lovers seemed much younger, as if their love had overshadowed the horrible events that forced them to grow up before their time.

Gibbs found himself longing to know this Ziva of the past. To know this Ziva who had not yet experienced the loss of her sister, her brother, her innocence, and, most recently, her country. But Gibbs knew that Ziva was gone. He had seen glimpses of her, yes, but he had fallen in love, and still loved, a different Ziva. And he still counted himself incredibly lucky. He glanced over at the woman next to him, and was not entirely surprised to see her silently trying to keep her tears at bay. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes fought to find something else to focus on, but were repeatedly drawn back to the photo in her hand. Her breath became increasingly more erratic as the tears threatened ever harder.

Gibbs placed a hand on her wrist in an attempt to comfort her, but the soft touch pushed her over the edge. Her brow furrowed as her eyes squeezed shut, but the tears escaped anyway. Then her brown eyes opened and her gaze fell on the photo once more. Not able to tear her gaze away from it, her head turned toward him. Her mouth opened and closed once or twice, trying to speak without letting the sobs to escape.

"I miss him so much," she said, her voice breaking. And then she crumbled, her hand coming up to her forehead as her eyes closed tightly, sobs finally wracking her frail form. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled to breathe between the heavy sobs. Tears flooded from her eyes, tracing down her cheeks to finally drop from her chin onto the blanket.

Gibbs immediately wrapped her in a hug. Her arms came up to clutch against his back. She clung to him, shaking against him as she finally let her anguish be known. Gibbs felt his heart crack with hers. He was familiar with this pain, the pain of losing a love so deep. He said nothing, only held her as she mourned the man she had managed to lock away for so long.

Even after she had fallen into an exhausted slumber he continued to hold her. He had no intention of letting go before she re-awoke. He would be there for her, both in the morning and in the difficult months ahead, just as he had promised, not only to himself, but to Officer Bashan as well. He would help her through her pain, emotional and physical, and help her realize that even this dark abyss of pain had a silver lining.

They had both lost so much, but had rediscovered it in each other: Love.


	13. Homecoming

PLEASE NOTE: There is suggestive content in this chapter. Nothing explicit, but if you are sensitive, feel free to not read this.

Gibbs quirked a grin as Ziva softly padded up behind him to wrap her arms around his waist as he stood at the stove. They were finally home, seventeen days after Officer Bashan's visit.

In the week following that tumultuous day, the atmosphere of Ziva's hospital room had improved significantly. The tension Gibbs had been feeling had all but disappeared as his concerns over Ziva's state of mind had been temporarily appeased. He knew that the effects of Bashan's visit would persist, even after Ziva was discharged from the hospital, but the catharsis that had already been experienced had been enough for the time being.

Ziva hadn't spoken of Shmuel again. Instead, she had thrown herself into her physical therapy, which had consisted of exercises for her leg and her hand, as well as breathing routines to help regain maximum lung capacity. She improved quickly, and within a week was able to walk short distances without assistance, and longer distances with a pair of crutches, which she characteristically refused to use. The pain, for the most part, had faded to the point where she no longer showed any indication of it.

The rest of the team had visited her as often as they could, and over the weekend her room had been filled with laughter and boisterous voices. Ziva had attempted to get McGee to tell her about the team's latest case, but sharp looks from Gibbs had scared the young agent into resisting Ziva's efforts.

Once the nurses had stopped continually poking their heads into the room to see how she was feeling, Ziva had actually become quite congenial. It seemed to Gibbs that she did not begrudge the nurses their task of recording her vitals. She had only snapped at those who had asked such inane questions as "do you need something for the pain?", while she had conversed pleasantly with the nurses who prattled on about their kids or their weekends. Julia had told them that she had become the "belle of the ward," a title that had made Ziva snort in derision.

Only Gibbs had seen the shadow lurking in her eyes late at night, after everyone had gone home, the only indication her state of exile was bothering her. But she hid it well, behind smiles and snarky comments to Dinozzo. Gibbs didn't mention it himself, giving her time to work it out on her own. He was confident in the knowledge that when she finally spoke to anyone about it, he would be the one she came to.

At the moment, he was preparing dinner for the both of them, a king's feast of grilled cheese and tomato soup. The hand not gripping the spatula reached down and caressed the small hands on his stomach as the sandwiches sizzled in the pan. Her warmth pressed against his back, and he leaned back into it.

"Hello," she said, poking her head over her shoulder, her hair tickling the back of his neck. She looked at the cooking dinner for a moment before turning her head to plant a kiss on his cheek. "It is good to be home," she said.

"Uh huh," he said blandly, the smallest of smiles still on his lips. Her arms went slack as she pegged him with a sharp look, obviously unimpressed with his response.

"_Uh huh_?" she repeated, her tone feigning incredulity. Her gaze was playful though, which only made suppressing his mirth all the more difficult. "That is all you can say?" she continued. "My first night home in almost three months and all you can say is _uh huh_?" She pulled away, leaving his back open to the cool air coming in through the open kitchen window. "Well," she said, her tone now aloof, "my appetite has changed. You can keep your hot cheese sandwiches." As she began to leave the kitchen, she threw one last parting shot over her shoulder. "And I will not be telling you the good news I got from Doctor Johnson regarding certain _physical_ _activities_…"

Her words eclipsed all thoughts of dinner as he snagged her arm before she had a chance to disappear from the room. He spun her around to face him before capturing her lips with his. She had been waiting for him, and her arms instantly came up to loop around his neck. He dipped her slightly as his momentum overcame her, but his arms were there, cradling her close. The kiss was intense, filled with passion that had been withheld for months on end. When they came up for air a few long moments later, Gibbs looked into her eyes, finding them darkened by an all-too-welcome excitement.

"And what were these _physical activities_ you asked about?" Gibbs asked, his voice husky. A feral grin greeted him, but he wasn't going to let her off the hook that quickly. "You gonna make me guess?" he continued, his hands starting to roam, brushing up and down her sides.

"Well," she said, playing along, shifting into his touch, "I _could_ give you some hints." She gave him a quick, yet sensual, kiss on his lips. "It is a sport that can definitely be played in the house…" She placed a kiss along his jaw line. "Anywhere." Another kiss, just under his ear. "In the bedroom." His neck fell prey to her ministrations this time. "On the couch." She pushed aside his shirt to taste his shoulder. "Against the kitchen counter." At this, his arousal flared, and he growled as her lips nipped his teasingly.

"And what," he huffed out between lust-burdened breaths, "did the good doctor say?"

"_Have a blast_," she reported, her voice a whisper that tickled his ear. Her hand crept to the waistband of his pants, and he barely managed to capture it in his before he lost the capacity for all rational thought.

"She didn't tell you to take it slow?" he asked suspiciously, even as the tiger inside him roared in protest, urging him to take her right then and there.

"Mmmm…" she moaned against him. "That was more of a suggestion than an actual order," she purred as she pressed into him, nuzzling his neck. Her hand drifted south once again, teasing, even as he tried to keep control of his own hands. He pulled away, to which she responded with a pitiful mewl.

"Ziva," he warned, attempting to make his voice as stern as possible. He looked at her, and silently cursed himself for his idiocy. He should have known that gazing at her would be his undoing.

Her brown eyes were wide, pleading, reminding him of a puppy who had been scolded. Her lower lip jutted out strategically, effectively completing her adorable mask. Her eyes betrayed her though, their lust-darkened depths revealing the wildcat threatening to overtake the puppy-dog disguise.

"Nice try, Ziver," he said. The wide eyes disappeared as her lids slitted, displeased. "Oh don't worry," he assured her, "we are most definitely going to be playing tonight." Her eyes brightened, but she didn't say anything, waiting for the catch. He stepped closer, leaning in to bring his lips to her ear. "But you're going to be _taking it easy_." His last three words were heavy with promise, and when Ziva pulled back to look at him, the burning desire in her eyes told him that she had caught his barely disguised promise. "Oh, but then there _is_ dinner," he said, teasing her once again.

"I told you," she responded, "my appetite has… changed." The double entendre was not lost on him, and he made short work of turning off the stove and moving the warm pan to a cool burner. The last thing he needed was a fire alarm interrupting them. Then his attention had returned to Ziva.

A firm hand was pulling his head to hers, and their lips collided in a tempest of lust and yearning. For a moment, his hands framed her face, but they soon grew restless and traveled down to the line of buttons trailing down the front of her blouse. With practiced ease, he efficiently undid them, then reached up to push the material from her shoulders.

Breaking away from their kiss only long enough for Ziva to pull his own shirt over his head, Gibbs' hands quickly resumed their exploration of her body. Calloused fingers trailed over silk-clad breasts, down to the soft, warm skin of her abdomen. Every so often they encountered bumps and ridges as they discovered the scars her life-saving surgery had left behind. He traced them for a moment, investigating. When Ziva did not pull away, he was reassured that they no longer pained her. Then his hands brushed across her hips, then over her denim-clad derriere, coming to rest on the back of her thighs.

Taking a firm hold of them, Gibbs hoisted her up until her slender legs wrapped around his waist. She had lost weight during her stay at the hospital, and she seemed feather-light as the testosterone flooding his veins aided him further. Her hands had captured his face, and the scar on her palm from where her two pins had been inserted tickled his cheek. But then the sensation was gone as a single thought took over his mind. Without wasting another moment, he walked blindly to their bedroom, using only memory to guide his way. He nudged the door open impatiently, and then carefully deposited her on the plush comforter.

He stepped away from her reaching fingers as they plucked at the button on his jeans. He disrobed quickly, and then swooped in to physically still her hands as she worked to shed her clothes as well. When she looked at him inquiringly, he grinned and leaned in, placing a hand on either side of where she sat.

"I said you were going to take it easy," he told her, his voice growling with want. He crept closer, and she leaned away, slowly laying back on the bed until he was on top of her. He unfastened her jeans. "That means," he continued as he worked, "that I do all the work." She moaned in response as his hands caressed her legs as he removed her pants. She squirmed in anticipation as he returned to his position over her. He looked into her eyes, his head level with his. "You ready for this?" he asked.

An irritated impatience flashed in her eyes. Instead of voicing an answer, she reached up and forcefully yanked his head down to hers to give him a crushing kiss. The action took his breath away, and as his arousal grew even further, his flesh became hyperaware. He could feel her breath, her movements as her hips began to press up against his, her very pulse against touch. Primal instincts howled in his mind, urging him to devour her completely.

Without further hesitation, he obeyed.

A/N: In writing this, I realized I very much wanted to incorporate the boat... but I didn't think Ziva's injuries would allow it. If you would like the boat to be featured in a nice make-out session (I doubt I will ever be able to write anything more explicit than this) in the future, holler back!


	14. Three Weeks Later

Gibbs kicked the front door shut with a sigh. He briefly wondered exactly _why _he had decided to go back to work so soon. Granted, Ziva no longer needed him to get around the house, so he couldn't use that as an excuse anymore, but being at the Navy Yard all day without Ziva sitting at the desk next to his was more taxing than he had thought it would be.

"Welcome home," Ziva called from the living room. Gibbs made his way towards her voice, finding her curled up on the sofa, book in hand. She glanced up at his entrance, gracing him with a welcoming smile. Closing the book over her finger to keep her place, she tilted her head up to receive the kiss he gave her as he leaned over the back of the couch.

She had left her hair curly, and she was without make-up, but she was still the most beautiful person he had seen all day. He propped his forearms up along the back of the sofa, resting on them as he leaned down to put his head on her level.

"How was work?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyebrow arched as a smirk crossed his lips. Ziva looked quizzical at his expression, before realization took over and she closed her eyes with a pained smile. "I sound like a housewife," she observed in mild disgust. Gibbs nodded. She pegged him with a look that clearly said 'I told you so'. "I _have_ to get back to work soon, Jethro." He didn't respond, knowing she remembered as well as he that the doctor had strictly forbidden work for at least another half-month. She rolled her eyes. "The question still stands," she reminded him.

"The usual," he responded, not wanting to go into detail. Disappointment flashed across her features, but she recognized his desire to not elaborate, and did not pursue the subject. A brief, yet comfortable silence fell as Ziva waited for him to make the next move. "What do you want for dinner?" he asked finally, steering them towards a less heady topic.

"I think we still have leftovers," she responded. Then her eyes widened, and Gibbs' grin grew. "I am warning you, Jethro, if you keep me in this house much longer, and I will become a Stepford." Gibbs stared at her in surprise.

"You've read _The Stepford Wives_?" he asked. She nodded.

"Twice," she replied. "It was on your bookshelf. I have read everything on your bookshelf. Twice. I am on the third go-around." Gibbs' surprised expression persisted. "I told you I needed to start working again. _You_ did not believe me." She looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head, eliminating any chance that she'd be able to persuade him to allow her back to NCIS against doctor's orders. Her shoulders slumped for an instant before she squared them again, coming to a decision. "We are having Chinese," she declared. Gibbs smiled.

"I'll go call it in," he said, straightening and making his way to the kitchen. "What do you want?"

"Surprise me," she called back. From his position just inside the kitchen, Gibbs was able to see her get up from her spot on the couch to come join him. "Hey, what do you say we—" her words were interrupted by an anguished cry of pain. Gibbs' eyes shot to her, and he watched her left leg give out under her as she tried to put weight on it. She dropped to one knee with a muffled moan of pain. He was at her side in a flash, gently helping her back onto the sofa. His hands gingerly massaged her leg, careful to not press too hard on the scar that alerted him to the presence of her metal plate.

"Ziva," he said comfortingly. She glanced at him, and he saw her brow furrowed in pain. "How long were you on the sofa?" he asked, thinking her muscles had seized from being in one position too long.

"Not long," she said. Her voice held an undistinguishable quality that made his gut twinge. He glanced at her again, and this time, found the faintest hint of guilt in her eyes.

"Ziva?" he asked in question, his tone urging her to come clean. "What--?" Then the epiphany hit him. "You went for a run, didn't you?" he said, his tone more accusatory than questioning. "Dammit, Ziva you know the doctor said you weren't cleared yet."

"I think I know my abilities better than she does," Ziva said defensively. "And it was only up and down the street, and not very quickly." Her voice turned bitter. "I could barely go faster than a tortoise."

"That's not the point, Ziva," Gibbs said. "What if something had happened? No one would have known where you were, and no one could call 911 if you collapsed."

"Gibbs, you live on a street with two dozen families. _Someone_ would have called 911." Gibbs sighed, trying to keep his temper in check. "I took appropriate precautions prior to and during the run, Jethro. I warmed up the muscle, stretched, and I did not push myself too far. I stopped when I felt the muscle becoming fatigued." She gave him a pointed look. "I did not want to, but I did." He looked up at her once more, and couldn't help but grin in return when he saw her smiling at him. He sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Fine," he conceded. "But wait until I get home next time, and then we can run together."

"No," she said firmly with shake of her head. Her quick response left Gibbs mildly surprised. "This is something I need to do on my own, Jethro," she continued. "I know my limits. Besides, I need something to do beside read when you are away during the day." This last bit was laced with resentment and bitterness, but she continued quickly before he could speak. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

"Yes." His answer was immediate, without reservation. She smiled.

"Then it is settled." She stood, and pulled him to his feet. "I am hungry for Chinese."

Later that night, Gibbs insisted that Ziva rest while he cleaned the remnants of their simple take-out meal. Indignation had flared in her eyes, but a stern glance of his own silenced any protests she had. Without a word she left the kitchen, and Gibbs knew that she would let her displeasure be known before the night was through.

When he went looking for her some ten minutes later, he found her sitting next to the window, looking out into the night. In her hand, he saw the picture of Shmuel that Bashan had given her. Her free hand was fingering the Star of David around her neck, which he had returned to her the first night she had spent at home. He could see her reflection in the window, and he noticed that her eyes were unfocused, unseeing. She was deep in thought, in memory, and he knew that she was thinking of her past, the one she had shared with the man in the photo. Instead of calling her attention to his presence, he left her where she was and made his way to the basement. He would give her the time she needed, he decided as he picked up a sanding bar and began to pull it back and forth across the unfinished wood of his boat. But a part of him wondered if she knew _how_ to overcome this. He hadn't. He was still getting over Shannon's and Kelly's deaths. Loving Ziva had helped him incalculably, but he had an inkling that Ziva needed something more, especially with the events and developments of the past months. But she would not accept or appreciate any overture of help from him, that much was certain. And he understood and respected that.

When he finally abandoned his boat in favor of getting some sleep, he returned to the living room, where she had not moved from her position by the window. He crossed to her and pressed a kiss to her hair. She was surprisingly unresponsive to his touch. Gibbs was mildly disconcerted, but shoved the feeling away.

"I'm going to bed," he said.

"I will be up in little while," she replied, not looking at him.

"Ziva—" he started, hating how condescending his voice sounded, even to his ears. Her sharp voice cut him off.

"I said I will up later." Her head turned slightly so she could fix him an angry glare for a brief moment before turning her back on him once more. Gibbs hesitated for a moment, and then silently turned on his heel and quietly made his way upstairs.

As he lay in bed a few minutes later, his mind began to wander. He couldn't pretend that her biting words hadn't bothered him. They had, but on the other hand, he couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't have responded the same way had their positions been reversed. And he could recall several times in which he had snapped at her during a case. Of course, that had been before the two of them had become personally involved, but did that really hold any sway on the matter?

He then pondered how to proceed. Would it be better to allow her to run her course? How long should he let her short temper continue unchecked and unchallenged? He caught himself. He was thinking like a father, probably in response to the subtle vulnerability that her injuries forced her to display. But the last thing she needed, and the last thing he wanted to be to her, was a father. He needed to look at the situation from the perspective of a lover, which meant letting her take her time. He wouldn't be doing her, or himself, any favors if he did otherwise.

It was almost an hour and half later when Ziva finally joined him. His eyes were closed, though he was still very much awake, and felt the bed dip as she crawled onto it. Her scent washed over him, that familiar fragrance of flowers and spice tickling his senses as she smoothly climbed ever closer. Her warm presence settled on the bed next to him as she settled against the length of his body. Then soft lips brushed his skin as she kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I love you," she whispered. His spirits lifted at her words. He opened his eyes then, only to find that she had already laid her head down on the pillow. He leaned over and gave her a kiss of his own.

"I love you too," he said simply. He gently pulled her closer, and she willingly obeyed, moving towards him until his arms encircled her entirely and her head rested on his shoulder. She seemed to crave the physical contact, as she melted against him, and her breathing quickly evened out as she fell asleep. Gibbs' last thought before joining her in slumber was the knowledge that the worst was yet to come.


	15. Tempest Pt 1

A week and a half later, Gibbs awoke to hear rain splatting against the window. Glancing at the clock, he realized that he was going to be late if he didn't hurry. His move to get up was temporarily delayed, however, as he took a long moment to gaze at the sinuous expanse of golden skin of Ziva's nude back.

She was slumbering on her stomach, her hand beneath her pillow. Her curly raven hair cascaded over her left arm, splayed out behind her as her face was turned away from him. Delicate lips were parted slightly, her breath soft as she continued to slumber.

He abandoned his warm refuge with silent reluctance, taking a quick shower and throwing on some clothes before returning to the bedroom. He crossed around to Ziva's side of the bed, and crouched down to give her kiss. His hand unconsciously moved to softly caress her hair. The action roused her, and she smiled sleepily at him as her eyes opened.

"I'm heading out," he said softly. By now she was more than aware of where he was going at this hour, but it had become more of a habit than anything else. Their morning routine had developed to include him waking her briefly to tell her when he was leaving the house for the day. It was simple, but it helped them orient themselves for the day ahead.

"Can I go with you?" she asked, her voice sounding surprisingly awake.

"Nope," he drawled. Her question was only asked once every few days, and the answer hadn't ever changed, as she still had another two weeks to go before Dr. Johnson would even consider allowing her back at work. But this time, Ziva's smile disappeared, and her eyes turned dark.

"Fine," she said, returning her head to the pillow, hiding her face from him.

"Ziva, you know you can't—"

"I am fine," she interrupted him, her voice flat. "Go. You are going to be late."

Her abrupt mood change didn't surprise him, as they had become more frequent in the past week. They worked both ways, though, as she could just as easily shift from sullen to delighted at a moment's notice. Three nights before, she had stumbled as she climbed up the stairs. It hadn't slowed her for long, and anyone else could have done the same thing, but she had immediately become snippy and short tempered. Later that night, they had been watching TV when he had made a wry comment about something that the actors had said. Ziva had burst into laughter, and had remained giddy the rest of the night, all bitterness of the few prior hours forgotten.

Gibbs didn't take it personally, as he interpreted the swings as an indication of the whole situation coming to a head. The full effect of the past months was hitting her now, and soon she would allow him to help her. She would come to him, whether it was a conscious decision or not. Whatever was weighing on her would be coming to light, and he would be there for her when it did.

"I'll see you when I get home," he told her. When she didn't respond, he simply left, and ventured out into the rain.

When he reached the Navy Yard, he found that his thoughts were focused entirely on the woman he had left in his bed. Though the morning's mood swing was nothing new, something wasn't sitting right with him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his gut told him that things were more significant than it seemed.

It bothered him to the point that he could barely focus on the case they were working on. Dinozzo was forced to double his efforts to attain the team leader's attention, having to repeat questions on more than one occasion. As the day wore on, and they made no headway on the case, which happened to be less time-sensitive than others they had worked on, Gibbs finally called it an early evening.

As soon as he gave the order, he vanished from the bullpen, not bothering to stick around to see the knowing look Dinozzo and McGee shared. He rushed home as quickly as he could, breaking several traffic laws in the process. He knew in his gut that Ziva was not okay. It was different from how his gut had been when she was abducted, so he knew she was physically okay. But her physical well-being wasn't what had been under threat the past month. If he had to put money on it, he would bet that today was the day he had been waiting for.

Upon pulling into the driveway, he ran into the house, trying to beat the chill of the rain. However, a quick walk-through told him that she was no longer in the house. She liked to exercise to clear her mind, he knew. He didn't have any home exercise equipment, which meant she had probably gone for a run. He glanced out the window as the rain thundered down in dense sheets—it was both cold and wet, the two worst conditions for her to be out in. The doctor had said her lungs had healed well, but that didn't mean she wasn't susceptible to pneumonia. He needed to find her—quickly.

He went back outside, pausing as he attempted to deduce which way she had gone. He quickly determined that if she was upset, she would choose a direction for the destination, not the route. He ran through the possibilities of where she would go if she needed to think—there was a park two blocks to the north, a park a half-mile east… and a martial arts school just off Main Street; perhaps she had gone there to watch a few of the classes.

But then he remembered the woods on the northwest end of the neighborhood. They had found a clearing the last time they had gone walking, about four months ago. The clearing was bordered by trees on one side, and a cliff on the other. The cliff provided a beautiful, humbling view of the land beyond it, and Ziva had expressed her appreciation several times that day. Inexplicably, he knew then that she would be there.

He ran through the downpour, which had not ceased at all during the day. Within minutes he was soaked through, but he barely noticed. He followed the path as he saw it in his memory, since the path had been all but obscured in the thick rain. The trees sheltered him slightly, but the thick foliage as soon as he reached the woods, but the thick foliage also blocked what little light made it past the heavy clouds, taxing his eyesight as he dodged shrubs and fallen branches. He refused to slow, however, until he reached the clearing.

He saw Ziva's form through the rain, her outline distorted by the deluge. As he approached, her figured became more discernable. She stood stiffly at the edge of the cliff, gazing out at the forest beyond. Her back was tense, her fists clenched at her sides. Her hair was loose, dripping and heavy in the rain. She wore only a light sweater over her tank and running pants as protection from the elements, but she wasn't shivering; he doubted she even noticed the weather. He trotted across the clearing to where she was standing with her back to him.

"Ziva!" he called as soon as he was close enough for her to hear. His voice seemed slightly muffled to his own ears because of the downpour, but she seemed to hear him clearly, though, as she turned to watch his approach. "Are you all right?" he asked as his hands began running up and down her arms. When he looked into her eyes, he saw them as a contradiction in themselves.

On the surface, they seemed apathetic, dead, and her blank features only supported the conclusion that she had shut down completely. But Gibbs knew to look deeper, and the emotions he found there surprised him. There was sadness, anger, confusion, helplessness— despair. Any doubt of what was happening vanished—this was the moment that would determine how the future would proceed. She was finding everything that had happened the past months too much, and it was up to him to make sure that she didn't shatter as she broke. "Ziva?"

"No," she finally responded, her voice muffled by the rain. "No, I am not okay." To hear her confession pained him, but he knew that it was a step in the right direction, especially when she continued. "I thought I could handle it. I thought I could work past it." Her voice started to increase in volume as she moved closer to the emotional brink.

"That's why I am here, Ziva," he said. "I can help you."

"No!" she shouted. She was clearly becoming more agitated, moving away from his touch. He let her go; she always put physical distance between herself and others when she felt emotionally vulnerable. "You cannot," she continued, anger singeing her voice. "You cannot help me. You do not understand."

"Ziva—"

"No!" she interrupted. "You do not understand. How could you understand?" Her words were flowing now. Her seemingly chaotic words were her last ditch attempt to keep them in check, Gibbs knew, but the flood had started. "You do not know what it is like!" She shook her head. Her voice dropped.

"I expected this. It should not bother me. I should be able to think about other things, like work, or training. But I cannot. I am not allowed to work, and I cannot run, or fight. I have nothing, except this, this…" She searched for a word, but after a fruitless moment, abandoned it completely. Her brow furrowed, and to Gibbs she seemed… confused.

"Is this why you always work on your boat? So you can keep all of _this_ away?" She spread her arms to indicate her wet and trembling form. "I cannot make sense of anything," she continued. "I cannot make sense, because…" Her voice trailed off again. "I did not know why, for the longest time. In the hospital, the first few days I was home, I could not figure out why. But then I realized why.

"And as soon as I realized, I did not want to accept it. I thought if you ever knew, you would not think of me in the same way. That I would become exactly what everyone thought of all Mossad officers. But I do not care anymore. Why should I? I am no longer Mossad. And the truth is that I have no direction because I have no one to hate." The very last came out as little more than a whisper as her eyes filled with shame.

Gibbs wanted to reassure her, to tell her he understood. Americans condemned hate as being disruptive to society. But he knew that hate could serve many purposes, and that it was a constant in life. He had known his own fair share of hate; who was he to judge? But she continued before he could say a word.

"I do not know how to live without hate, Jethro," she continued, barely taking a moment to breathe. "It is all I know. It helps me focus, gives me purpose. But—" her voice broke. "I cannot hate _him_. Even after everything he has taken from me, I cannot. Because he is still my father.

"I do not know what to do." She began to pace, gesticulating with her hands to emphasize her words. "Hate is pounded into us. If your heart hurts, you use it, hate your enemies, seek revenge on those you hurt you." Her right index finger jabbed into her left palm on each point she made. It was a gesture not many people used any more, but seeing her do it almost made him smile. She didn't seem to notice him though, as she continued without pausing to take a breath.

"You strike back, swift and sure. Harness your hate, use it as a weapon. It is your strength, your rock, without it, you have nothing." She looked at him, her glance almost pleading. "But what happens when you have no one to hate? I tried hating him, I did. But I cannot. And when I could not, I tried to hate Rivkin for what he did, but then, if not for my father, Michael would not have even known where to find me. So I should hate my father for leading Rivkin to me.

"I want to hate my father," she continued, her voice rose in pitch. As she spoke, Gibbs saw the remnants of her control crumble farther. "He took my childhood, my sister, my fiancé… and now he has taken my home from me! He tried to _kill_ me, Gibbs. But instead of hating him, all I can think about is how I wish… I wish he had succeeded." Gibbs felt his heart break at her words. She was hurting, much more than he had thought. He understood though; he remembered that day on the beach all those years ago, trying to build up the courage to use the gun he had held in his hands. He had recovered—so could she.

"Ziva—"

"No, Gibbs. Please, do not." She waved his words away, then folded her arms around her middle in a defensive gesture. Gibbs saw her struggle to breathe normally around the sobs caught in her throat. "I have given my life to defending my country. It was never just a job, something to do simply for the money. It was what I was born to do. I sacrificed _everything _for Israel!"

She pressed her lids closed, and though Gibbs knew tears had managed to escape, he could not distinguish them from the rain streaking down her cheeks. "I lost my mother, my sister, Shmuel. I lost my brother." Her eyes open to reveal a scathing, seething intensity roiling in their depths. "But none of those losses ever hurt as much as I do now. Because I _always_ had someone to hate: the doctors who could not save my mother from cancer, the Hamas cell who planned the hit that killed Tali, and the one that murdered Shmuel. And I hated the people who corrupted Ari.

"I tried hating Ari too; if not for his actions, I would never have come here. I would still be in my homeland, working to defend her. And he would still be alive… he would still be overprotective me, getting me out of trouble." Her voice bordered on nostalgic for a moment before hardening once more. "But he is already dead. There is no use in hating a dead man." Her voice was bitter at the elimination of a possible outlet for her rage.

Her shoulders had slumped, her posture defeated, vulnerable. Gibbs stepped closer and attempted to take her in his arms, but she lashed out, her palms connecting with his chest in a vicious shove. "NO!" she yelled, her palms impacting his chest sharply. The force knocked him back a couple feet while she herself slid another two feet back, doubling the distance between them. The blow shocked him; he had never been on the receiving end of her violent tendencies. When he looked at her in stunned silence, he found her eyes nearly unrecognizable from the manic anger coursing through them.

"I tried to hate you too!" she snarled at him. Her words cut him, but the confusion and blunt honesty they were laden with eclipsed any care he had for his own feelings. "I want to hate you for your stupid vendetta against my brother, for working at NCIS the day Ari infiltrated the building. You were the catalyst, Gibbs, you drove him to become a murderer. _You_ changed him, and for that I want to hate you. I want to hate you with all my heart, but… I cannot hate you either." Relief flooded him. He remained patient, though, and didn't speak, instead letting her continue.

"I even tried to hate Jenny! It was _her_ death that led to Vance sending me back to Israel. If he had not done that, then my father would not have partnered me with Michael, and he would have had no reason to question my effectiveness as an operative. None of this would have happened if she had not sent Tony and me away! But she is dead too," she concluded, her voice resentful. "I cannot hate her either." Her eyes rose to meet his again, her helplessness over the situation was clearly written across her features.

"There is no one else," she croaked. "I have no one to hate, and I cannot make sense of all of… _this_," she waved her hand at her head. "It is all swirling around inside of me, and I cannot do _anything_ with it. The frustration, the pain, the loss, the regret; it has nowhere to go because I cannot use my hate as a guide. And I cannot run from it. I cannot work to take my mind off of it, I cannot run to clear my head… I do not know what to do," she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"It is tearing me apart." Her hand came up to press a hand to her temple, as if it would help banish the painful emotions coursing through her. Gibbs knew from personal experience, however, that it took much more than that to keep them at bay. "And I cannot stop it. I do not know how." Her words became ragged, her breath coming in short rasps as the helplessness overcame her. "It is destroying me, Gibbs." She began to hyperventilate. "_Please_—" Her plea was the invitation he had been waiting for, and he swept in, pulling her to him. She trembled against him, and he knew it wasn't because of the cold. She didn't return the embrace, instead simply burying her face against his damp shirt.

"Why?" she asked, her voice muffled. He looked down at the top of her head. "Have I not given enough? What else does He want from me? What did I do to make Adonai punish—" Her words halted, and she tensed against him. In the next instant she had pulled away from him roughly, moving to stand closer to the cliff, in the nearly the exact same spot she had been in when he first found her. Gibbs took a step after her before he caught himself. After a moment one hand relaxed enough to reach up and finger her Star of David pendant. Her touch was gentle at first, but then her hand curled around it fiercely.

With a vicious yank she pulled it from her neck, the delicate chain snapping from the force. She whirled to face him, her expression twisted in unbridled anger.

"That is it," she snarled, showing him the pendant that lay against her palm, the broken chain dangling in the rain. "It is this. I gave everything to protect the land He promised us. And it was not enough. It was never enough." She glared at the little gold star. "People see this around my neck, and they make judgments. Some look at me in disdain, and some pity me, while others hate me for what it stands for. We have always been persecuted for our faith, perpetually punished for our devotion. We were slaves in Egypt, blamed for the Black Plague, and murdered by the Third Reich." Then her gaze lifted to his, filled with question. "He lets us suffer, never intervenes. And yet we continue to love Him, to praise His name." Then the anger was back.

"No more," she said. Her voice had dropped in volume, but it held an intensity he had never heard from her before. The extreme rage Gibbs saw burning in her eyes frightened him, as if her violent outburst hadn't been enough out of character for her. She had never hit him before, and he had never seen her like this. He imagined that this was how she had been when Tali and Shmuel had been killed, especially now. The confusion was suddenly gone from her expression, only to be replaced by an intense focus that had turned her features to stone. And Gibbs knew then that her dilemma had been solved; she had found someone to hate.

"Rule number three: Do not believe what you are told; always double check." She looked at him. "There is no way to double check Adonai's existence or benevolence. There is only the word of the Torah, which tells you to simply believe what is told. But that does not mean you should believe anyway. Why should you?

"Why thank God every meal for bread that you earned with your own two hands? Why thank God for anything? He is not benevolent. He does not give. He only takes. He only puts trials in your path. Why must you suffer to prove your devotion? It is a game to Him, isn't it? He does not care who lives or who dies. He does not care what you do in His name. If He did, He would have stopped it. He would have let Tali live. She deserved to live. But He took her." She closed her eyes.

"I always hated politics," she said. "I hated having to watch what I said around people in case someone would want to use it against me. I always saw them as… puppetmasters. They pulled strings to further their own agenda, and they always did so behind closed doors, in secret." Gibbs wondered how politics fit into her crisis of faith. When she spoke again though, it all fell into place.

"And Adonai is the greatest puppetmaster of them all. He pulls _all_ of the strings. He never shows his face. He is a coward." She opened her eyes, and this time pegged him with a fierce gaze. "And I _hate_ cowards." For a moment she looked down at the pendant once more, before closing her fist around it. After another long moment, she swung her arm down to her side, releasing the star as she did so.

A faint clink accompanied the necklace's impact with the ground. And then Ziva was gone, walking back in the direction Gibbs had come from. Her movements were stiff, still full of anger, but she walked with purpose, not looking back. Once she had disappeared into the tree-line, Gibbs walked to where she had discarded the symbol of her faith.

He crouched and pulled it from the grass, his fingers gently brushing the drops of rain from its golden bars. It didn't do much to keep the water from its surface, as the rain was still pouring down. The weather had been forgotten as he had focused entirely on Ziva's outburst, but he now realized the rain was cool, the smallest of breezes making the chill bite. He briefly wondered if Ziva had even noticed the cold as he pocketed the charm and its broken chain.

He didn't know exactly why he felt driven to pocket the necklace, but he knew better than to second-guess his gut. Without further ado he put his hands in his pockets and followed Ziva home. He had been worried about how difficult it would be to help her rebuild after her breaking point, but now he was almost certain that he would have to do nothing but let her be.

She had something to hate now, and after all, she had said she was familiar with that. It had pained him to hear her confess her propensity for hate, but far be it from him to judge her for it. For all he knew, she could be calling it hate because she doesn't know what else to call it. He was sure that Mossad wouldn't have bothered to distinguish the different emotions one can feel in the aftermath of a tragedy.

As he wound his way back through the trees, he realized that he was now in unchartered territory. He had expected everything that had happened thus far, but he had no idea how Ziva was going to go about picking up the pieces. He would help where he could, but he had a feeling that she would be more than capable of doing it on her own. But then again, he could be completely off-base.

The one thing he knew for certain was that it would happen, no matter how, and he would be there.


	16. Tempest Pt 2

"Ziva!"

Abby's gleeful exclamation rang out across the bullpen as the Goth ran to give her newly-returned friend. The smaller woman was nearly bowled over in the scientist's enthusiasm.

Today was Ziva's first day back at NCIS, after having been cleared by Doctor Johnson. It was four weeks after the incident in the rain, and Gibbs had to hand it to her—she was nothing if not resilient. While she had been filled with unspeakable anger in the days that followed the scene in the woods, she had become increasingly more like her old self.

Apparently, her words had been true: she knew what to do with her hate. Exactly what it was, he had no idea, but the change was tangible. The mood swings vanished, she continued her physical training with unparalleled fervor, and she ceased to isolate herself from him. She was no longer emotionally listless, and she had regained her ability to focus. She was smiling again, which warmed Gibbs' heart considerably. The shadows had disappeared, and he could not help but admire her strength.

He watched with a smile as Abby proceeded to squeeze the breath from Ziva's lungs. She was not quite ready for the dangers of being out in the field, where a suspect could fight arrest or try to make a run for it, but the decision to restrict her to deskwork had been left to his discretion. Honestly, he doubted she cared too much either way: she was pleased with just getting out of the house. He could use her still-sharp investigative skills, but the innate danger of the job made him hesitate to allow her to come along to the crime scenes.

She was still in the process of re-training her body. Her running had improved considerably, but was still nowhere close to where she had been before her abduction. She had passed her firearm proficiency exam the day before with flying colors, but the explosive force of the gun firing had jarred her recently healed fingers, leaving her sore the rest of the day. She was certain that she simply needed practice, and he believed her; she was too familiar with a gun for him not to. He had yet to try sparring with her, so he didn't know if her reflexes were at all lacking in speed.

"Abby!" Ziva's strangled voice reached Gibbs' ears. He glanced at his two favorite girls to see Ziva smiling over Abby's shoulder as the scientist continued to unwittingly suffocate her. "I cannot breathe!" Abby pulled back immediately.

"I'm so sorry!" the Goth proclaimed. "I told myself I wouldn't hug you too hard, because your broken bones may have healed, they are always more susceptible to refracturing for up to six months after injury, but I'm just so excited to see you! It's been like, forever! And now I'm not the only girl around here anymore! Tony has been insufferable without you to keep him in line. I mean, I could have done it, but that's your job, and if I did it, it would be like I didn't expect you to come back, but I knew you would, so I couldn't retrain him and he's been absolutely terrible!" The tall woman took a deep breath. Then she pounced on Ziva once more. "I am so happy you're here!"

"I am glad to be back too, Abby," Ziva replied. "I have missed you." Abby finally pulled back, this time stepping away to let the rest of the team to gain access to Ziva. McGee was the first to step up.

"It's good to see you back, Ziva," he said. He didn't reach for a hug, but was close enough for Ziva to playfully pat his cheek.

"Thank you, McGee." She smirked. "I am sorry you were forced to deal Dinozzo all on your own." She gave Tony a pointed look. "Do not worry, I will straighten him out."

"Aw, I missed you too, sweetcheeks," the senior field agent drawled. "The perps didn't though. Do you know how many jack-offs thought they could fight back? I had to do actual work while you were gone--" His words were cut off by the smack Gibbs delivered to the back of his head. "I've had a lot more of those too," he continued with a wince.

"I can help with the work load, Tony," she said stepping into her partner's personal space. "But you will have to do something for me in return," she said, her voice seductive. Surprisingly, Gibbs didn't feel jealousy flare up at her actions; instead, he smiled at the familiar behavior.

"Oh really?" Tony asked, his voice equally husky, contrasting with the broad grin on his lips. "And what would that something be?"

"Be my sparring partner. I need to get into shape, and I need someone to beat up to bring my close combat skills up to fluff."

"Up to snuff," Tony corrected automatically. "And no way. You may be out of shape, but I know better than to think you can't still kick my ass." Ziva's shoulders fell in disappointment.

Before Gibbs could hear the remainder of their conversation, his cell phone began to vibrate against his hip. Walking a few paces away to answer it, he listened intently as the person on the other end spoke rapidly. A few moments later he was flipping it shut and walking over to his desk.

"Gear up!" he called across the bullpen. The team sprang into action, with Abby quickly disappearing to her lab, and McGee and Tony scrambling to get their backpacks and follow after Gibbs as he stalked towards the elevator. Ziva was the first on his heels, but he stopped abruptly, causing her to bump into him as he spun to face her.

"Not you," he said. Her shoulders fell as she looked at him in disbelief. "Not today," he continued. She rolled her eyes. For a moment she seemed about to protest, but then she tilted her head to the side as she looked at him once more, the corner of her mouth lifting in the smallest of smiles. He recognized the concession for what it was, but spoke to appease her displeasure anyway. "Just humor me this time."

She rolled her eyes once more, obviously unimpressed. But she waved him to the elevator, where Dinozzo and McGee were holding the doors for him. With a smile, he obeyed her silent command, and went off to join the rest of his team. He glanced back at her one last time before entering the elevator.

"I will be down with Abby!" she called after him. He nodded in acknowledgement, and then stepped into the elevator, allowing the doors to close behind him. Ziva dropped her backpack on the floor down behind her desk. She looked out across the empty bullpen for a moment before turning and heading towards the stairs. She took the opportunity to trot down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The first few steps pulled her tense leg muscles, but they quickly loosened up as she continued. She increased her speed slightly, taking full advantage of the simple exercise opportunity.

When she reached Abby's floor, she was momentarily disappointed at how little time it took. But then an idea struck her. Instead of continuing on to Abby's lab, she turned and trotted down the last three flights of stairs until she reached the floor that housed the evidence locker. Then she turned and sprinted back up the stairs. When she reached Abby's floor once more, her blood had started pumping, and the slight rush of endorphins was enough to satisfy her. With a grin, she finally went to join Abby to await Gibbs' return.

* * *

Two hours later found her helping Abby prep her "babies" for the expected influx of evidence from the case. Ziva had been relegated to wiping down the metal tables as Abby turned on the various machines that lined the walls, rambling on about something that had happened the night before at a Brain Matter concert. Ziva only half-listened to Abby's story, making appropriate, if general, sounds at the necessary points to appear interested. She focused on her task, wiping any dust or smudges from the smooth surface of the exam table.

The whirring of the machines and the beeping of the computers mingled with the loud beat of Abby's trademark music, soothing her with its familiarity. She had not realized just how much she missed being at NCIS, with her colleagues and friends. She felt at peace, more so than she had been since before she was shot. Things had improved greatly since she had bared her soul to Gibbs, but she had still felt edgy at the house, probably because she simply did not have enough to keep her occupied.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Dropping the rag she had been using, she flipped open her phone to answer. Gibbs' voice greeted her on the other end, purely professional as he gave her a name to run. The prospect of something specific to do to help with the case made her grin, but she managed to keep the excitement from her voice.

Flipping the phone shut, she bade Abby farewell and left the lab. Retracing her way back to the stairwell, she proceeded to run all the way up to the bullpen. Sliding into her chair, she turned on her computer. As the necessary applications began to load, she found herself slipping into the familiar role of investigator. In her head she mapped out what she was going to do. Background checks for criminal records, DMV for personal information, employment history, and searching his credit history for any suspicious purchases that could play a role in their case.

The hour and a half it Gibbs and the rest of the team to return to the Navy Yard proved to be enough for her to acquire an adequate background on their victim. She was already queuing up pictures and relevant information to display on the plasma when the elevator dinged and she heard Dinozzo's brash voice approaching.

"I'm just saying McProbie, it's fishy!"

"What is fishy?" she asked, looking up at her teammates as they made their way towards their desks. Dinozzo glanced up at her quickly, as if he had forgotten she would be there.

"Oh, ah…" he scrambled to recover, searching for a valid way to backpedal. His behavior put her on the alert. "Just something that happened at the crime scene," he said finally, bending down to place his bag behind his desk. When he straightened once more, he flinched back when he found Ziva standing not two inches from him.

"I do not believe you," she said dangerously. Her eyes were mischievous, clearly reveling in the effect she was clearly having on him. She cocked her head. "What is fishy?" she repeated.

"We had an unexpected visit from an old acquaintance," McGee proffered. Ziva smirked in response, her eyes not leaving Tony's, admiring his obvious discomfort. She maintained eye contact, even as she began to speak to McGee.

"Oh really?" she asked. "Who?"

Before he had a chance to answer, she stiffened as she sensed a presence behind her, just as Tony's eyes shifted to focus on something over her shoulder. She turned on her heel to see Gibbs regarding her with a cool gaze from where he stood between her desk and Dinozzo's. Her eyes shifted to the person standing next to him, giving the newcomer a quick once-over.

Shoulder length dirty-blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail behind her head, exposing high cheek bones and a strong jaw-line set below sharp blue eyes. She was dressed plainly in civilian clothes; relaxed blue jeans and a layered short-sleeve t-shirt that revealed well-toned arms. Her arms were crossed over chest, her lips curled in a suppressed smile at the scene in front of her as Gibbs spoke.

"Lieutenant Colonel Mann will be assisting us."


	17. Blast From the Past

Ziva froze, but her mind jumped into warp-speed, as McGee would say. What was Hollis Mann doing here? Last she had heard, the retired Army Lieutenant Colonel had relocated to Hawaii. The information had come straight from Jenny herself, so Ziva was inclined to believe it. And the civilian clothes led the observant NCIS agent to assume the woman had indeed remained retired. But that did not explain what she was doing here, at the Navy Yard, next to _Gibbs_.

She glanced at Gibbs, nodding silently in response to his declaration of Mann's assistance with the investigation. She herself had no grounds on which to protest; she was not even sure whether or not she actually wanted to protest the retired soldier's presence. Perhaps it would be better for Mann to remain nearby: keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Even the Americans knew that one. And indeed, Ziva did see Mann as an enemy. Her sudden appearance was fishy, as Tony had so aptly put it. But now was not the time to alert Mann to her suspicion.

"Welcome back to D.C., Ms. Mann," Ziva said cordially, using the woman's retired status as a subtle barb.

"Thank you Officer David," Mann responded. As Gibbs watched, Ziva froze. The change was subtle, and no one else noticed, but Gibbs saw it clear as day. "I heard about your ordeal; I'm glad to see you've recovered well." Ziva hesitated slightly before responding.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. Gibbs stepped in then, sensing her discomfort.

"David, my office," he said brusquely, already leading the way. The elevator doors opened instantly, and then quickly closed behind them as soon as they had both entered. A moment later the lights dimmed as the elevator slammed to a stop.

"What is she doing here?" she started off, pacing the small interior of the metal car. "She is retired, she has no business working on cases, even if they do involve the Army. She is supposed to be on the other side of the country—"

"Ziver," Gibbs interrupted. Ziva stopped pacing to look at him. "We aren't here to discuss Mann," he said. "What happened? What did she say that upset you?"

"She did not upset me," Ziva lied, attempting to brush off his concern. He expected this deflection, and look intensely at her. He leaned back against the wall of the elevator, settling down for as long as it took for her to open up. Ziva recognized the posture, and caved quickly, knowing that Gibbs was not going to let up.

"I—it just—" Ziva shook her head, kicking herself for allowing herself to stutter. She paused to gather herself before trying again. "I am not Officer David anymore."Her gaze lowered to the carpeted floor. "This morning, everything felt like how it had before—I just remembered that it is not the same."

Gibbs stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She allowed him to do so without any resistance. His hand automatically came up to her hair in a move that always helped soothe her. She melted against him for a long moment. When she finally pulled away, she smiled.

"I always wondered what it would be like to be Special Agent David," she said. Gibbs looked at her in surprise.

"You did?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, her grin broadening. "Why would I want to be a Special Agent when I was an Officer?" Gibbs grinned.

"Just make sure you specify yourself as _NCIS_ Special Agent," Gibbs said. She looked at him quizzically. "Cause if you think that's bad," he continued, "just imagine being an _FBI_ Special Agent." Ziva laughed as Gibbs flipped the switch to restart the elevator. As soon as it came to stop at the bullpen floor, her expression turned serious, as did Gibbs'. The doors opened and they both stalked out, Ziva a step behind Gibbs. As they approached the bullpen, Gibbs started barking out orders.

"Background on our vic!" he said. Ziva launched into a presentation of all the information she had procured so far. It took longer than such presentations usually took, as she had had enough time to learn a lot about Petty Officer Rooney.

The team seemed surprised at the depth of her research, even Mann. Usually, such presentations were interrupted by questions about the information, but this time no one had a chance to ask anything, as she seemed to anticipate all their questions and answer them in her next breath.

As soon as she was finished, a moment of silence passed as they speechlessly admired the depth of her work. Mann looked surprised, while Tony appeared to be jealous of the pleased look Gibbs was giving her.

Finally Gibbs barked an order for the senior field agent to chase a lead they had acquired at the scene, while he himself headed off to Abby's lab. Ziva allowed a smug smile to cross her features as she returned to her desk. As she sat in her chair, she cocked her head in Tony's direction in silent challenge. He glared at her.

"Hey, I was the one who had to do all the hard work at the scene today, Zee-vah," he snarked immaturely.

"Oh yeah, Tony," McGee interjected, "like snapping candid photos of the hot witness is _such_ hard work."

"Hey, she fidgeted! It took me at least fifteen minutes to get a frame that wasn't blurry."

Ziva smirked at Tony's words for a moment before she shifted her attention to the forms on her desk. She had almost forgotten about Mann until the older woman approached her desk.

"Impressive report, Officer David," the ex-soldier remarked.

"Special Agent," Ziva responded without glancing up.

"Excuse me?" Mann asked.

"NCIS Special Agent David," Ziva clarified. She finally deigned to look at the woman, just in time to see a spark alight in her bright blue eyes.

"Not a Liaison Officer anymore then?" Mann asked. "How long has it been since you cut ties?" Ziva glanced briefly at her once more, but did not answer. Mann seemed to accept her silence for what it was. "I can't say I blame you," she continued. "There is a certain draw when it comes to Special Agents. Don't you think?" Again, Ziva refrained from responding.

"No? Well, maybe you'll change your mind in a couple years. It's like a fine wine," she said. "It gets sweeter as it _ages._" The emphasis on the last word made Ziva look up at the older woman. As soon as they made eye contact, Ziva knew that Mann suspected. Even if the Lt. Col. did not know for sure, the challenging spark in her eyes told Ziva that she was not going to let it go. The newest NCIS agent, though, kept her features schooled.

"I do not know how a federal agency is like an alcoholic beverage, Ms. Mann" she said carefully. "Unless you are counting the headache you get from both." Her response made Tony snort in laughter, and she quirked a small smile of her own. Mann straightened, and seemed about to say something else, but Ziva cut her off. "It seems that Agent Gibbs has not given you a task, but not all of us were so lucky. I would appreciate it if you entertained yourself so that we could do our jobs."

Both Tony and McGee watched with bated breath as the two women faced off. The sight was impressive; Mann was taller, more physically intimidating, but even from her seated position, Ziva exuded an undeniable intensity. She was back on her home turf again, and she was not about to simply give it up to the former soldier.

On the other hand, Mann had a well-known history with Gibbs, which she felt gave her a certain status within NCIS. It was true, to a certain extent, as she had obviously earned the respect of Gibbs, which most agents knew as a near-impossible feat.

After a few moments of intense staring, Mann conceded, going over to sit in the cubicle next to McGee. She pulled a folder out of her shoulder bag and began to glance over it as McGee and Tony each shot appreciative glances in Ziva's direction. She winked at them as she returned her attention to the papers littering her desk.

Ten minutes later Gibbs rejoined them, brusquely giving Mann leave to explain how their Naval Petty Officer fell into possible Army jurisdiction. She had proceeded to explain that he had been a person of interest in a string of unsolved murders on a series of Army bases. Mann had been lead investigator on the murders, and knew the cases better than anyone else—which explained why she had temporarily abandoned her retirement plans.

Ziva listened to the details of the other cases carefully. When Mann told them about some of the witnesses who had been interviewed, Ziva had begun rustling through her papers, obviously searching for something. Mann paused her presentation for a moment in offense, but Ziva took no notice. The rest of the team simply looked expectantly at the older woman, silently waiting for her to continue. Eventually she did, and as soon as she had, Gibbs started barking out orders to McGee and Dinozzo. Neither Mann nor Ziva received instructions, as Ziva was clearly busy chasing down a lead she had discovered during the presentation, and Mann no longer had any connections when it came to investigating naval personnel, rendering her somewhat unnecessary until some hard evidence came to light.

After a few moments, Ziva disappeared down to Abby's lab, her body language somewhat excited. Gibbs let her go, resisting the urge to follow her. He wanted another moment alone with her, but the sharp gaze of Hollis Mann kept him rooted in his chair. He realized it was probably for the best; he needed to remain professional at the office anyway. Ten minutes later Ziva returned to her desk.

"You got anything, David?" he asked.

"Unknown," she replied. "Possibly. You will know as soon as I do, Gibbs." He nodded once in affirmation. The team worked in silence for another hour before Ziva's phone rang. With a quick "I'll be right down" she hung up and disappeared once again into the stairwell. Five minutes later she came rushing back, a form in her hand. She quickly typed something into her computer, and then loaded it up onto the plasma. "I have something," she said something.

"That was quick," Mann commented.

"All you need is good eyes and a Gothic forensic scientist who can procure absolutely anything from a computer," Ziva replied. "Don't you have them in the Army?"

"I don't anyone _but_ NCIS has a Gothic forensic scientist," Mann said.

"I was talking about good eyes."

Tony snorted in laughter. Even Gibbs cracked a smile as he stood and moved closer to the plasma between McGee's desk and Tony's, where Ziva was already standing.

"When Mann was reporting on her cases from the Army, she mentioned a Private Burdock. I remembered seeing that name when doing my own research, so I went back and checked again. Private Burdock and Petty Officer Rooney got into a bar brawl three years ago. They were never officially charged, as the officer on scene had respect for the military. But Rooney's Commanding Officer made a notation of the incident in the Petty Officer's jacket. Mann already had Rooney as a suspect in the murders, but I believe Private Burdock was a co-conspirator."

"Why would Rooney team up with the guy he slugged in a bar to murder his fellow soldiers?" Mann asked.

"Rooney did not get into the fight with Burdock," Ziva explained. "The two of them teamed up against some of the other patrons. They appear to be good friends, despite the different branches of service. Well, until six months ago, that is." She clicked a button, and a webpage popped up onto the plasma. "Abby was already searching Rooney's files, so I asked her to find something concrete that could link the two men further."

"And she did," Gibbs said.

"Yes," Ziva said with a grin. "Online bank statements show that for about 26 months prior to his death, Rooney deposited payments of $25,000 into his account in the two weeks following each murder. But then, three months before his death, the payments doubled in the week following the most recent murder."

"All the Army vics were Officer's, they would have more money in their accounts than enlisted soldiers," Tony observed.

"Yes," Ziva agreed. "Rooney worked in Naval Supply as a computer whiz. It would have been easy for him to monitor the victims' financial activity, and determine which officers were loaded enough to steal from."

"We checked bank records," Mann said. "There was nothing suspicious."

"Abby discovered that the payments were not a direct transaction between the officers' accounts and Rooney's. It is possible that they made series of withdrawals over time, and but only deposited them when they totaled $25,000."

"But why kill the officers?" Mann asked. "Why stop at $25,000? Why not continue to steal from them?" Ziva shot her a pointed look.

"You investigated their murders; perhaps you should be telling us." Silence fell at her sharp words, but she continued quickly. "But then again, you do not have a gothic forensic scientist. Abby found an encrypted blog- thing on Rooney's computer. She told me it was like a digital diary.

"Now, Rooney never explicitly implicated himself, but he expresses concerns over Burdock's state of mind. It appears that Rooney handled the computer hacking and stealing while Burdock was the aggressor. And I do not think they stopped at $25,000. We do not have Burdock's bank financial information yet, but the last deposit Rooney made was for $50,000."

"You think Rooney took Burdock's cut," Gibbs said. Ziva nodded. "If he did, we've got a motive. And it fits, all the vic's were Army Officers," Gibbs said. "Rooney had no motive to target soldiers. He didn't kill them." He turned from the plasma. "Dinozzo, McGee! Bring in Private Burdock." He looked at Mann. "Get in touch with the current investigators on your case, see if they have anything to add."

McGee and Dinozzo quickly gathered their things, but Mann hesitated. She didn't say anything, but Ziva could see that she was displeased with how things had transpired. But instead of baiting the woman, Ziva simply left the bullpen, grabbing her jacket and keys from her desk on her way out.

"David!" Gibbs shouted. She paused and turned back. "Where are you going?"

"The bakery," she said simply. "I owe Abby a Chocoholic's Choice cupcake." Gibbs smiled, knowing how important it was to reward Abby. He nodded, and Ziva turned to leave once more. "David!" He called again, once more halted her exit. She turned back. "Good job," he said simply. She smiled in response before finally making her way to the stairs.

"It's not every day when one of Team Gibbs gets such high praise," Mann said, who had sidled up behind Gibbs to murmur into his ear. He turned away from to go back to his desk.

"I give praise when they earn it," he said. "And considering she got farther in the case on her first day back than you managed to get in the two years _you_ had the case—She's earned it."

"And it didn't have anything to do with what the two of you talked about in the elevator this morning?"

Gibbs felt his gut wrench in anger. He looked up at her in irritation. He traced his way back around his desk. "My office," he ordered brusquely, leading the way to the elevator. Mann hesitated, a bemused smile tracing her lips, but ultimately followed.

As soon as they were alone in the elevator, Gibbs slammed the car to a stop. He swiftly turned and stepped into the retired Lt. Col.'s space. She didn't back away, instead allowing him to come closer.

"Did you come out of retirement to actually help, Hollis?" he asked. "Or to antagonize my team?"

"Your team?" she returned, her tone casual. "I was only observing your interaction with Officer—no, excuse me, Special Agent David." She crossed her arms. "I didn't realize your team was involved."

"Agent David is a part of my team," he said gruffly. "And I can guarantee that I will not be the only person wanting a piece of you if you piss her off."

"I think I can handle Agent David."

"Oh, I doubt that," he said. "And I wasn't talking about her. Agent David has had a rough few months and no one on this team is about to let her become a target again. If you continue to harass Agent David, both Dinozzo and McGee would be more than happy to escort you to the curb."

"You've got a lot of nerve—"

"_I _have the nerve? Last I checked, you're the one who went off to Hawaii. What did you expect when you decided to come back to the case?" He paused. "You _did_ come back for the case, right?" When Mann didn't answer, Gibbs gave a short laugh, turning away with a shake of his head. "Unbelievable."

"You can't tell me that you haven't wondered what might have happened if I hadn't left," Mann said, her tone hard. "We had something special, Jethro, and I was an idiot to give that up. I thought—"

"We had something," Gibbs interrupted. He pegged her with a sharp look. "It wasn't special. And no. I haven't thought about what could have happened." Her eyes narrowed. "You left me, Hollis. Not the other way around. You have no business coming and throwing thinly veiled barbs at my team. You do it again, and I'll have you out on your ass so fast you won't know what hit you."

With that Gibbs turned and flipped the emergency switch again, allowing the elevator to continue its movement. He faced the doors, completely disregarding her presence. She looked at him in mild shock; he had never been on the receiving end of his temper before. After a moment, she recovered, and stepped up to stand beside him, also facing the doors.

"So you've moved on then," she said, her voice flat.

"No," Gibbs responded. She looked at him, but he didn't return the gaze. "Didn't need to."

And then the doors opened with a ding, and the Marine left her standing in the elevator, staring after him as her mind jumped into action. What had he meant by that? She automatically jumped to the conclusion that he had cheated on her before she had left, but she pushed that thought away; Gibbs was too honorable for that.

But he was definitely seeing someone else, of that much she was sure. She wondered who it could be. She knew enough about his past history with women that whoever he got involved with would have to be understanding of the job, as he was unlikely to give up the job for a date. She herself had understood completely, due to her own similar job situation. She got the feeling that the woman would have to be strong as well; even though he was more than willing to be the rock in a relationship, a woman who could not stand on her own two feet would bore him.

This new mystery had her hooked; there was no way she was going to be going back to Hawaii before she absolutely had to. He may say that he had not thought about the future they could have had, but she definitely had. She had gone on a few dates since moving to Hawaii, but she had compared all of them against Jethro, and they had all fallen drastically short. What kind of woman could help him move on so easily?

Well, she was an investigator, wasn't she? She stepped out of the elevator before the doors could close on her, and made her way back to the temporary desk she had been unofficially assigned. She'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Gibbs made quick work of interrogating Private Burdock. Using the information Ziva had found, he was able to trip Burdock up in his own lies in a matter of hours. As soon as the Private had realized that he had slipped up, he had flown into an explosive rage, declaring that Rooney had deserved what he got, for trying to steal from him. The arrest was quickly made, and Gibbs left Burdock in the interrogation room, ignoring the angry vows of retribution the Private sent after him.

After an hour of paperwork, Gibbs sent the team home. They quickly scattered to the winds, not wanting to risk something happening to force them to stay. Mann followed at a more leisurely pace. As she made her way to the parking garage, she began to think. The quick resolution of the case was not only a blow to the ego, since CID had had the case for years and not made any headway, but it removed any professional excuse she had to stay in DC longer.

She needed to talk to Jethro again. She needed to him to know how much she regretted her decision to leave him, and how much she wanted a second chance. They had been happy before, and she knew in her heart that they could be again. Her innate investigative skills had noticed that he had not fielded any personal calls all day, even during the lunch hour they had taken, nor had he made any outgoing calls. There were no pictures on his desk, and no other indication that he was involved with anyone else.

She was not blind though; she knew that there were interested parties. At the crime scene, some of the female rubberneckers had been quite obvious with their interest in the silver-haired Marine, though he himself had been oblivious to their attention. And the spectators weren't the only ones interested; within minutes of arriving at the Navy Yard Mann knew that Agent David was interested. It was subtle, impossible to see unless you were looking for it. But it was there nonetheless; that territorial gleam in those brown eyes had been unmistakable.

And if Gibbs ever found out the Israeli was interested—the woman posed a viable threat. The ebony-haired woman was strong, ambitious… and beautiful. Ziva had known Gibbs for longer than Mann herself did. She already had a solid foothold in his life.

David was part of the team, _his_ team. The team he protected to the death, supported through even the worst situations. His quick defense of Ziva earlier in the elevator was only a testament of how devoted he was to his team.

Mann finally reached her rental car and left the Navy Yard, her mind preoccupied with her dilemma. She only had a few days before the case was put to rest in terms of paperwork, and then there would be absolutely no reason for her to be in DC. She needed to speak with Jethro as soon as possible; if he shut her down, she wanted the possibility of trying again.

She almost made to her hotel before she came to a decision. She pulled a U-turn and quickly navigated the familiar streets of DC until she hit the suburbs of Southern Maryland. The sleepy streets were even more familiar, and soon she was in front of Jethro's house.

There was a car she hadn't seen before in the driveway—a yellow and black Charger. It made her grin; old, a classic, but in excellent condition. Pure Jethro. Looking up at the house, she saw that the living room lights were on. The windows were glowing with the warm light, and the porch lamp was nostalgically inviting. Taking a deep breath, she made her way up the front walk to the solid wooden door.

She briefly considered knocking, but she quickly disregarded it. The whole point of coming here was so that he would not have a chance to shut her down. Even if he did answer the door, which was unlikely, he could deny her entrance, both to his home and his life. She wasn't willing to take that risk.

She pushed the door open on silent hinges. She cautiously stepped into the foyer, looking surreptitiously around as she ventured in. True to form, Gibbs was nowhere in sight. And if he hadn't sensed her presence by now, that only left one place he could be. The basement.

She smiled as she recalled the nights that had been spent amid the musky fragrance of saw dust. They had never made love there. They had never done more than exchange chaste kisses in that sacred space, something she had never pushed out of respect for his late wife and daughter. But that didn't stop her from allowing it to feature prominently in her fantasies.

She wondered if he had completed the boat. It had been nearly complete when she had left. And if it was finished, she wondered what he had done with it. But the light shining through the open door told her that he was working on something, whether it be the same boat or a new project. She swiftly passed through the doorway on silent feet pausing on the top landing while she was still out of sight. She took the slightest of moments to gather her resolve before making her way down the steps.

The second step creaked loudly as her foot hit it, eliciting a flurry of activity from down below. The tell-tale clicking of guns cocking made her freeze by the time she reached the third step. She turned, raising her hands in a posture of peace, knowing that even though Gibbs' eyesight was not quite as sharp as it used to be, he was still the best shot she knew. But when her eyes found the smaller figure standing next to him, she could not disguise her disappointment.

"Officer David," she observed. To her dismay, her tone sounded shocked. Intense brown eyes focused on her, not wavering. A deceptively delicate hand pointed a gun towards her, though Mann's keen eyes could not help but notice that it was not aimed at her chest, which was military regulation, but at her face, presumably between her eyes. The Israeli's other hand hung by her side, gripping a slim knife by the tip, ready to fling it at a moment's notice.

Mann's eyes flicked back to Gibbs, and to the NCIS-issue Sig he was aiming in her direction. His blue eyes, which she knew could be warm and comforting at times, were icy as a tense moment passed. Finally, it was Ziva who broke the silence.

"_Agent_ David," she corrected. She then lowered her weapon, clicking the safety on before tucking it into the waistband of her shorts, nestling it in the small of her back. It was then that Mann noticed what _Agent_ David was wearing.

Denim shorts revealed slender legs that ended with small bare feet, dusty from the sawdust that littered the cement floor. The sleeves of a white, long-sleeved button down shirt, which she recognized as one of Jethro's, were rolled up to her elbows. The bottom half of the button line had been left undone, and the corners had been drawn up and knotted just under her bust line, baring smooth abs that were marred only by the presence of several rugged surgical scars.

Another thin line peeked out from beneath the hem of her shorts, running about three inches along her thigh. They were all pink with new skin, recent reminders of the events that Mann had only heard about through the military grapevine. Details had been vague at best, but the scars and Gibbs' concern in the elevator that morning told her that it had been serious.

Gibbs was wearing one of his old grey NIS shirts, ragged and stained with paint. His own blue jeans were tattered and well-worn, hanging off his hips with gentle familiarity. His gun had lowered as well, but his gaze had not softened. Hollis knew then that she had made a mistake in coming to see him tonight, and to think that he had been as lonely as she had been. His welcome for her in his home had disappeared when she had, and now his privacy had been breached—by her.

Guilt flashed through her for a moment, but was then eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of injustice. Who did Ziva think she was? Who did _Jethro_ think he was? She was his subordinate, he her boss. Not to mention the age difference. Were there not enough men Ziva's own age to choose from? Of course one of the few, upstanding single men over forty had been lost to a younger generation. Such was the state of things nowadays. Especially with _her_ luck. Hollis continued her approach.

"Well, _Agent_ David," she said as she descended, "when I mentioned the virtues of a fine wine earlier, I hadn't realized you had already tapped into the barrel."

"I prefer Scotch," came Ziva's terse reply. The words made Hollis look at the Israeli, finding a barely detectable smugness in those sharp brown eyes. Even Gibbs shifted in silent amusement at Ziva's quick quip. Hollis turned her attention to him.

"Haven't moved on, huh?" she accused. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Told you," he said simply. Ziva looked at him in mild curiosity. "Nothin' to move on from." Now it was Ziva's turn to arch a brow, and Hollis knew it was clearly not the answer the black-haired woman had expected. Unfortunately, this was the second time Hollis had to hear it, and it burned even more harshly than it had the first time.

"Well, you didn't mention that you had become otherwise involved."

"It's need to know," he said simply.

"And I didn't need to know?"

"No." His terse reply grated on her fraying nerves. Hollis forced herself to take a calming breath. She shifted her attention to the wooden structure that rested behind the pair.

It was a boat. Not the one she had been around for, as this one only had half the hull nailed to the frame. The half that actually resembled a boat had already been sanded smooth, and the broad slats looked almost soft. It was unstained, and difference to the boat she had seen that made her wonder what had actually happened to it. She then realized that a segue probably could actually prove beneficial.

"What happened to the old one?" she asked.

"Moved it." Again, Jethro's answer was painfully blunt. Another long moment of painful silence passed until it was broken by an unexpected interjection from Ziva.

"Hah," Ziva laughed, her gaze averted, clearly in her own thoughts. Both Gibbs and Hollis looked at her in question. When she noticed their inquisitive gazes, she grinned as she turned her head towards Gibbs while keeping her eyes averted. "It is a good thing you did not name it _Hollis_."

Mann knew that it was somehow a dig against her, but she was obviously missing something. But as Hollis watched, Jethro's hand came up and lightly smacked Ziva on the back of the head. The younger woman received it, her head dipping forward slightly to absorb the contact.

"I deserved that," she conceded with a grin, raising a hand in understanding. Mann was shocked to see Jethro's lips crease into a grin.

Indignation burned in her gut at Ziva's words, but then realized that the younger woman was actually handling the situation with finesse. She was subtly establishing her dominance within the space and in regards to Jethro. Ziva's outfit and bare feet communicated her familiarity with her surroundings. The subtle jibe and reference to inside knowledge put Hollis even more on the outside of the relationship, and her self-deprecating brush-off of the slap to the head was endearing.

"Can we talk?" Hollis asked Jethro.

"Sure," he said, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the tool counter. Ziva looked at her intently as well, not making any move to leave.

"Alone?" the retired Lt. Col. clarified. At this Ziva turned to leave, to give them their privacy, only to have Jethro's hand stop her. He sent Hollis a challenging look.

"She stays."

"Jethro—"

"She has more right than you."

Hollis' breath caught. She saw the hard gleam in Jethro's eyes, and knew he was dead serious. All the words she had wanted to say to him vanished from her mind. They didn't matter now anyway. She knew that even if she pleaded, persuaded, and preached until she was blue in the face… she didn't have any chance of him reconsidering. The realization pained her, but everything about their postures conveyed familiarity and comfort.

Hollis hated to admit it, but she had absolutely no chance of getting Gibbs back while Ziva was in the picture. There was a level of trust between the two agents, tangible in the way Ziva had been willing to give Jethro a chance to talk to Hollis in private. It was evident in the way they had each trained their weapons at her when she surprised them, their equal skill working in tandem to defend the other. It was the affectionate tap he had given the back of Ziva's head, semi-scolding but not entirely serious. It was in the way Ziva had smiled at him in amusement first at her own thoughts and then at the common knowledge they shared about naming boats.

But most of all, it was how, when Jethro looked at Hollis, his eyes were guarded and cold, but then melted into a tender gaze of devotion. It was a gaze that Hollis had never been on the receiving end of. She had no business attempting to be either; she knew that much now.

Hollis' shoulders slumped as she deflated slightly, losing all of her previous indignation. She abandoned all hope of becoming part of his life, and discarded all the arguments she had conjured up before she got to the house. Realizing they were still expecting her to say something, she shifted back to the subject of the boat.

"So where is the boat now?" she asked.

"Garage," he answered. Hollis' eyebrows rose. She had forgotten that he had a garage. He never used it, as it had been filled to the rafters with useless junk. If the boat now occupied the space, then the garage must have been completely emptied and cleaned. In her mind's eye, she could see Jethro and Ziva sorting through the dusty boxes, with Ziva poking fun of the more absurd trinkets and Jethro telling her the stories associated with the more meaningful items. It made Hollis' heart hurt.

"I'm going to go back to the hotel," she said finally, not willing to make more of a scene. "I'll be at the Navy Yard tomorrow to finish the paperwork for the case, and then I'll be back in Hawaii." Jethro gave her a long look, finally conceding a firm nod of acknowledgement. She returned it with a quick nod of her own, blinking as she did so.

Taking a deep breath as she reopened her eyes, she glanced at Ziva, who was regarding her with a cool stare. The former Mossad officer's gaze was carefully schooled, void of judgment, with only a shimmer of understanding in her eyes. Bile rose in Hollis' throat at the idea of the younger woman pitying her, and she quickly turned away, climbing the stairs with practiced ease. One ill-advised last look over her shoulder found Ziva and Jethro already moving towards each other, not even bothering to see Hollis leave.

She didn't stop to gather herself until she was up the stairs and out of sight through the door. But once she was sure they could no longer see her, she leaned silently against the wall, struggling to keep her breathing under control. Tears burned in her eyes, and her chest felt heavy. She managed to remain silent though, which made it possible for her to hear the soft voices that drifted through the still-open door.

"Are you all right?" Ziva asked quietly.

"Yeah," came the drawling reply. There was a rasp of cloth against wood, and in her mind's eye, Hollis could see Jethro turn to face Ziva from his position against the workbench. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, his voice low.

"She is part of your past," Ziva said. "She did not give you much warning." She paused. "I know how difficult it can be to deal with an… unresolved issue." The vulnerability in her voice was surprising to hear from the notoriously stony-faced Mossad officer.

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed. "So do I." Hollis closed her eyes as she remembered the mask that had fallen over his features when she had confronted him about Shannon and Kelly. She knew in her gut that the mask was nowhere to be found now; he trusted Ziva, even with the pain of his lost family. "But Hollis and I were resolved a long time ago," Jethro continued. "She made her decision." Oh, and how she regretted it. "And I made mine." She could hear the grin in his voice when he continued. "And I am so glad I did."

Hollis couldn't take any more. She pushed off the wall and ran on silent feet to the front door. She managed to close it behind her without a sound. She cut across the grassy lawn, not bothering to use the slate-paved walkway. She dashed to the car, only stopping when she was safe in the confines of the rental. She furiously swiped at the tears that threatened to fall, mentally kicking herself for thinking she had a second chance.

She had no one to blame but herself, even if she wanted to hate Agent David with her being. She knew she had made the wrong decision by the end of her first week in Hawaii. She could have gone back to him then, but she had refused.

Her damn pride had gotten in the way; she was an independent, forty-year-old woman who had been newly liberated from a 20-year career in the military. She needed to spread her wings, and she shouldn't be reliant on a man for her happiness. And so she had stayed on that damned-beautiful island, and had remained absolutely miserable. She had sealed her own fate.

But Jethro hadn't been so cowardly. He had seen his chance for happiness, and he had taken it, despite all the reasons why he shouldn't. And it had paid off; he was happy, happier than he had ever been with her. She couldn't begrudge him for the courage that she herself had lacked. It turns out that all those stories had been true: apparently Marines were stronger than soldiers like herself. Well, he deserved this. All of it.

Taking a cleansing breath, she felt the weight lift from her chest. With one last wipe of her cheeks, she started the car. Flicking on the headlights, she gave one last look to the home she had just left. She almost wished them luck, but disregarded the thought with a shake of her head as she pulled away from the curb.

They clearly didn't need it.


	18. Ever After

A/N: Here is the last chapter! It took forever to write, I apologize. Finals have been kicking my butt! This story will continue to stand on its own, thanks to my laziness. And this is also going to be my very last post (for _any_ story) until I return in August. I tried to have this chapter give some closure, I am not sure how well it worked. Love it, hate it, at least it's finished! Please review though-- reviews rock my world.

Have a great summer, and thanks for reading! See you in the fall!

* * *

_Six Months Later..._

Gibbs stood casually in the doorway of the shack, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest as he gazed out across the sand. The sound of waves crashing against the shore eased his mind—a familiar lullaby from those long confusing months after he had regained his memory. That summer had been difficult as he recovered from the explosion that had shot him back in time. The pain of Shannon's and Kelly's deaths had become fresh and agonizing.

A few weeks into his self-imposed exile, Gibbs had realized that he had made the wrong decision in coming here, to Mexico. He needed to keep busy, to keep his mind off his memories. But he had closed the door on NCIS; he had retired, leaving the team in Tony's capable hands. So instead he began building, like he always did, only this time in the open air of the beach, not the dark confines of his basement. Slowly but surely, the pain faded back to the occasional throb it had been before the explosion. But even then, he could not find peace.

He found his thoughts plagued with images of Ziva, flashes of her face crumbling into heartrending sobs as she reopened her own emotional wounds to remind him, and herself, of Ari's betrayal. Every so often he dreamed of that night, and woke up feeling remnants of her body heat from having pulled her to him in comfort. The only difference between the flashbacks and the actual event was that when he woke up amidst tangled sheets, the heavy beating of his heart had nothing to do with the adrenaline of returning memories. Soon, he couldn't avoid thinking about her, even during his waking hours.

He hadn't bothered to look too carefully into his feelings then. With everything else he was experiencing that summer, he had simply added it to the rest and left it at that. Well, almost at that. He could not help but wonder how she was doing. He knew the pain of losing family—he could only imagine how it felt to have been the one to pull the trigger. And he also felt guilt, for being the one to ask her to watch his back. She had no reason to obey his request, except the compulsion to do the right thing. But she hadn't shown any indication that she would even care about right and wrong.

No, yes she had. Her first night in America, he had been privy to her passionate retaliation when he had mentioned the Palestinian waiter of mistaken identity. It had been in that moment that Gibbs had gotten past the stone-cold assassin façade to catch a glimpse of the passionate woman underneath. At the time, he hadn't been able to determine whether it was the smudge against Mossad's reputation or the loss of an innocent life that angered her. If he had been forced to choose then, he would have put money on the former.

But that summer, after a year of working with her and watching her morph from stone cold assassin to confident investigator, he knew that it was the latter. And after that night in the hospital, he knew that she indeed had a heart—a heart too big, too vulnerable for him not to be concerned about how she was coping. He assumed that she was still as competent and professional as ever, but he knew better than anyone how easy it is to simply bury the pain instead of dealing with it.

Several times Gibbs had come close to calling her, but he always thought better of it. No one knew where he was, and only Abby had managed to locate a contact number for him. Selfish as it may have been, he had wanted to keep it that way. So when Camila had told him someone had called for him, he was completely taken by surprise when he had heard Ziva's voice on the other end of the line.

He should have known that her call was not a personal one, but her plea for help made his gut churn, especially when she tearfully asked him to save her. The raw emotion in her voice had been unmistakable, even long distance. He had known at that moment his fate was sealed—he was returning to DC. And he had a sinking suspicion that he would be doing so even if he hadn't been in her debt.

And so he had gone flying back to DC. He helped exonerate Ziva, but it had been her own machinations that had truly ensured her freedom. He had lost faith in her, during those tense minutes after he had told her Eschel's location and the time he actually arrived at the motel. He had thought that she had killed him before the bastard could be brought to justice. But she had pulled through—she became the very embodiment of the investigator he had taught her to be. Even bloody, black, and blue from the beating she took in order to secure the Iranian's confession, she had glowed with pride.

Movement along the shoreline caught Gibbs' attention, pulling him from his thoughts. Blue eyes quickly recognized the figure's gait as she walked barefoot down the beach toward him, sandals in hand. Black curls brushed tan shoulders left bare by the white bikini she wore. A white sarong was wrapped around her hips, blowing slightly in the wind. The entire stretch of beach, familiar as it was, seemed much brighter than he remembered from that summer he had retired. The sun was shining brightly now, reflecting of the white sands to bathe Ziva's lithe frame in a warm glow.

About fifty yards from the shack she stopped and turned to gaze out at the sea, letting the incoming waves cover her feet with sand. She turned briefly to toss her sandals farther up onto the dry sand, out of the reach of the gently surging water, before returning her attention to the sea.

Her profile was serene, and Gibbs knew she was deep in thought. With a grin, Gibbs left the porch and crossed the sand to meet her, immediately wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back into his embrace, enjoying the feel of his skin against her bare midriff.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, his voice a whisper in her ear. As much as he hated to admit it, it had become difficult for him to guess what was on her mind lately. He knew he could simply wait for her to come to him, instead of asking, but he had realized that vocalizing his queries not only gave her a chance to confide in him, but also let her know that he _wanted_ to hear her thoughts.

Sometimes she would be thinking of the past, of good times with her family, or she would be thinking of recent events, the traumatic events that had forever altered their lives. And other times she would simply give him a vague "nothing", and he would leave it at that. He never felt the need to pressure her to talk—she would come to him when she wanted to. He was willing to listen, whenever she needed him. This time, however, he seemed to be in luck.

"I am thinking about that day, a couple of months ago," she responded. She turned her head to look at him. "Do you remember? It was raining, and I had gone out for a run."

"Uh huh," Gibbs said, recalling the day easily. "You scared me that day." Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"I scared you? But I did not threaten you. In fact, I was glad you had found me."

"You were awfully close to the edge of that cliff."

"So? I was not going to fall—" Her eyes widened. "Oh. You thought I might jump."

"Not really," he assured her. "But that's what a person's mind first jumps to when someone is that close to the edge, especially after what you had gone through."

"So your fear was a leg jerk reaction?"

"Knee jerk," he corrected, "and yes. I know you better than that. You're not a quitter." She smiled at him in response, and then turned back to look at the ocean. "Why were you thinking about that day?" he asked, guiding them back to the original topic. "Something about it bothering you?" It was a moment before she responded.

"It is just that… I think I made a mistake." Gibbs waited for her to continue. When he was met only with silence, he gently continued to prompt her.

"You don't blame God anymore?"

"No," she said, "that is just it. It was not about faith. It was—" she halted, abruptly changing her mind. "Never mind," she said with a slight shake of her head, "it is silly."

Gibb bit back a sigh. Of course she thought it was silly. She had been away from Mossad for a while now, but she still had trouble vocalizing thoughts that were heavy with emotion. And if his suspicions as to what was bothering her were correct, her thoughts were indeed emotional. His hand reached into his pocket, where his fingers immediately located a familiar metal shape. He had taken to carrying it with him everywhere, waiting for the right moment to return it to her. And he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the moment had come.

Hooking a finger around the delicate chain he withdrew the pendant from his pants pocket. In a smooth movement he brought his arm up to dangle the familiar Star of David pendant in Ziva's field of vision. She pulled back slightly to focus on the swinging charm, but in an instant she had recognized the gold star. Her hand came up to touch it, but hesitated a few millimeters shy of the gleaming metal. She turned to him, and as he gave her a soft smile, he saw her eyes had widened in surprise.

"This is mine," she stated, her voice soft. Her eyes flicked back to the necklace. Her brow furrowed. "I threw it away that day. But I knew later that I was wrong to have done so." She fell silent as she focused entirely on her pendant. When Gibbs moved to clasp the necklace around her neck, she didn't resist, instead moving her dark curls aside to give him easier access.

Once the star was safely secured around her neck, the fingers of her right hand immediately sought out the familiar lines. She turned in his arms, her left hand gripping his shirt tightly as she pressed herself as close to him as she could. His arms tightened around her, returning her somewhat unorthodox embrace. Her forehead rested against his chest, and his hand came up to stroke her hair. They remained like that for several long moments, until Ziva turned her head to the side to speak.

"That day," she said, her voice just loud enough to be heard above the waves, "I was so overwhelmed by everything—" Gibbs momentarily flashed back to that rainy day, when he had only been able to watch as his lover had finally broken under the weight her traumatic injuries, both physical and mental. Then he blinked, and focused once more on Ziva. "I threw away this necklace because I was angry with God. But in that moment I forgot that I did not wear this necklace as a symbol of my faith." She sighed.

"The star is Tali's. It was the only thing recovered from the bomb site. I kept it, and wore it to remind myself of why I was fighting. The chain Tali used was ruined in the blast, so I replaced it with one that belonged to my mother." Gibbs was instantly glad that he had simply replaced the clasp (which had broken when Ziva had yanked the necklace from her neck), instead of simply purchasing a new chain altogether. "I had thrown away the only things I had left of my family. I was so stupid." She looked up at him. "Why did you keep it? How did you know--?" When her query was met with an arched brow and a familiar quirked smile, she rolled her eyes. "Ah yes," she said with a wry grin, "your gut."

"Uh huh," he said. He smiled at her for a moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you," she said, her voice raw with unguarded emotion. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer.

"You're welcome," he returned softly. He kept her close for a few moments more, before he pulled away. "Let's go inside," he said, his right arm remaining around her waist to guide her towards the shack. She went with him without resistance, still grasping her newly recovered Star of David between her right thumb and forefinger. The porch creaked ominously beneath their feet, but Gibbs knew it would hold their weight, having built the supports for it himself the last time he was there. As they moved into the darkened entryway of the shack, they both became instantly aware of a faint buzzing noise that reverberated against the wood-paneled walls. They looked at each other in question.

"You said no work," Ziva accused, a smirk crossing her features.

"Not mine," he said. "Turned it off before we boarded the plane."

"Well, I turned off my cell—" Her eyes widened. "Hold on," she said, quickly disappearing into the bedroom, where their belongings were currently residing. Gibbs followed, leaning in the doorway to see her pawing through her backpack, digging to the very bottom of the bag, and finally pulling out a non-descript, yet unfamiliar cell phone. Briefly glancing at the caller ID, she flipped the phone open, answering with a sharp "yes".

Silence fell as she listened to the person on the other end of the line, answering only with an occasional murmur of affirmation. After a few minutes, she shut the phone closed, ending the call. She stared at the small phone in her hand with a blank gaze. Her eyes only lifted when Gibbs shifted his weight against the doorjamb.

"Sorry," she said. "I had forgotten about this one." When she saw his inquisitive gaze, she elaborated. "It is one I never use. Officer Bashan issued it to me. I keep it charged and in my day bag at all times. The only person who knows the number is Bashan. That is why forgot about it. It is for emergencies only." She looked back down at the phone in her hand, almost as if in disbelief.

"What did he want to talk about?" Gibbs asked, not bothering to clarify which 'he' he was referring to. For a moment or two, Ziva didn't answer, and Gibbs wondered if she hadn't heard him. But then she finally spoke.

"My father is dead," she said quietly, slowly shifting her gaze back to him. Gibbs' brow furrowed in concern.

"Don't look at me," he said, risking a bit of levity. "I have an alibi."

"No," she said, not registering his humor. "He was found dead in his office earlier this morning. A heart attack."

"Heart attack? Didn't think a guy who could shoot his daughter without blinking would be taken down by a heart attack." They had long ago abandoned attempts to tiptoe around what had happened in the warehouse, after Ziva had become irritated with everyone's attempts to avoid the subject. Now they spoke openly about it, both of them comfortable with the blunt references.

"He wasn't," Ziva said, surprising Gibbs. "The autopsy will not clarify whether it was natural or not. Not that such clarification is needed."

"Metzada? Or foreign operatives?"

"Komemiute is very good at what they do," Ziva corrected, using the official term for Mossad's elite team of assassins. "Even if someone bothered to look deeper, they would not find anything to suggest anything other than a natural death."

"They've named a successor already?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Ziva answered. "Officer Bashan is no longer with the Embassy here in America. He has returned to Israel as the newest Director of Mossad." Gibbs' eyebrows arched. "Do not look so surprised, Jethro. He should have been made Director long ago, or least Deputy Director. He is a good man, and a better officer. He will be a good Director."

"And let me guess," Gibbs said, a grin gracing his features, "his first act as Director was to clear your name, reinstate you, and renew your citizenship." A moment passed, and then she beamed at him.

"I can go home," she said. Her eyes twinkled at him in excitement. The change in her demeanor was palatable. The weight of the past few months had vanished, and to Gibbs she looked years younger. For a moment, he could see the woman from the picture he had seen in the hospital, smiling in Shmuel's arms. She stepped towards him. "_You_ can come with me. I can show you my home… You can see Haifa and Tel Aviv and Jerusalem."

"I did say I wanted to see Israel with you, didn't I?" he said. She nodded, smiling as she stepped even closer. "Well then I guess it's decided." Her smile grew even more. "We're going to Israel."

She swiftly closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips to his, her eyes closing as she enjoyed the contact. She could feel the heat of his touch slowly bleeding into her, warming her from the inside. However, even in the summer heat of the beach, she was not uncomfortable. A faint breeze had managed to find its way inside the house, tickling her senses. Happiness bubbled up inside of her, and when they broke apart for air, she gave him a sharp but playful nip on the ear, making him grunt surprise. He looked at her, but she was already gone, pelting full speed back outside.

Gibbs took off after her, grinning madly. He watched as she smoothly hopped the porch rail to drop gracefully to the sand below, not breaking her stride at all. He followed, though taking the jump to the sand with more care than she had. His longer legs allowed him to quickly catch up with her, and as soon as he was within reach he flung his arm out, catching her around the waist. Their residual kinetic energy spun her into him, and he was unable to keep himself upright as she barreled into him with a playful shout. Gibbs twisted as they fell to the sand, forcing them to land with Ziva beneath him, immediately putting her in a prime position to be at his mercy.

But before his calloused fingers could even brush her surprisingly sensitive sides, Ziva had efficiently twisted beneath him, using her body weight to throw him off. He rolled with it, and soon Ziva was sprawled on Gibbs' chest as his back pressed into the soft sand. Her hands gripped his wrists tightly, keeping them away from her bare skin. Brown eyes twinkled down at him as she sat up, straddling his chest as her rested in the sand on either side of him. Her brows arched as a small smirk twisted her lips, her head cocking jauntily to the side in a clearly smug and superior motion.

When she leaned down to place a sultry kiss on his lips, he retaliated, wrapping his arms around her, trapping her against his chest as he quickly rolled over, again pinning her beneath him. His wrists now free from her grasp, he brushed a lock of sandy curls from her cheek, giving him an unobstructed view of her easy gaze, while his other hand pillowed the back of her head. He knew that she would not try to force him off of her this time—her limbs were lax against the sand, and her eyes conveyed such an honest contentment that he could not help but relax as well.

He found it ironic, really, how the last time he had been on this beach he had been so broken, and now, with Ziva, he felt complete again. Same place, but two very different times, two different people—he was not the same man who had retired four years ago. He had changed too much to not admit it. And looking down at Ziva, he saw changes in her as well.

Physical scars aside, the woman lying beneath him was completely different from the girl who had come to NCIS that stormy night. And despite her mature confidence, a girl she had been, in her own way. She was experienced in the ways of the world, yes, and had seen more of the world in her twenty-some years than most people saw in their entire lives. But she had been so reserved, so guarded, that she hadn't really been experiencing the world at all. But now, gazing up at him, she was completely unguarded. Where she had previously striven to hide her emotions, she was now allowing him to see her to her very core. There was just the slightest hint of sadness in her gaze, but it was eclipsed by her mirth at the situation, and the love she felt for him.

Upon recognizing the latter emotion, Gibbs felt a twinge deep in his core. It was a familiar sensation, but one he had not felt in a while. He had first felt it when he had received his eagle, globe, and anchor on Parris Island, when he had first become a Marine. He had felt it when he had stood at the altar, gazing at Shannon as he lifted her veil. And nowadays he felt it only sporadically, when his team exceeded everybody's expectations. It was honor—he felt honored, seeing the love in her gaze. She had chosen him, allowed him to love her back, when he had not given her any reason to do so, and when she could have had her pick of any man she met. It was pride as well. He was proud to be the one she had chosen, the one who was able to care for her when she needed him. And proud that she wanted to be the one to be there when he needed her.

"Hey," he said softly, drawing her eyes to his.

"Mmmhmmm?" she murmured, her lips still smiling. He took one of her hands in his, tracing the slender lengths of her fingers. He grasped the base of her left ring finger between his thumb and forefinger.

"You're missing something here," he said, showing her the bare skin. He watched her brow furrow for a second before realization dawned. The shift was subtle, but he could see wonder begin to creep into her gaze as she returned her eyes to his.

"I am?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Uh-huh," he returned, smiling.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" He couldn't hide his growing grin, warmth spreading swiftly through his core.

"Yeah," she confirmed, grinning broadly herself. "Yes. Definitely." The corners of her eyes crinkled with joy, and Gibbs responded with by pressing his lips to hers once more, this time more deeply than before. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head. When they parted, Gibbs rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply as he savored the contact. His eyes closed, letting her scent of flowers and spice wash over him.

"I love you," he whispered, so soft she almost missed it. She smiled.

"I love you too," she whispered back. "I love you too."

* * *

_Fin_


End file.
